Paternity
by MagicSwede1965
Summary: Christian's first girlfriend delivers a bombshell. Follows 'Class of '83'.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** _Here's the result of that little teaser I left behind last story. My thanks as ever to PDXWiz, jtbwriter, Harry2, BishopT and Kyryn. I'm going to begin shortening intervals between story dates because I've come up with some new ideas—not to mention getting some input from others, which is most welcome. They will appear in the near future. For now, enjoy!  
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§ § § -- September 1, 2003

Roarke stared at his daughter across the table while she checked her watch for the third time in ten minutes. "Leslie," he said, "that won't make the plane come in any sooner, so will you kindly cease?"

She looked up, startled. "Was I looking at my watch again?"

He rolled his eyes expressively. "Yes, you were, and it appears that you've grown completely unaware of it as well. The plane will be here at ten o'clock, and not one moment sooner. So please, my child, finish your breakfast and remain calm."

She groaned. "Almost an hour to go! I don't think I can stand it!"

Mariki appeared in time to hear this last. "Oh yes you can, Miss Leslie. Although I have to tell you, Mr. Roarke, it's such a relief knowing Prince Christian's coming home today. Your daughter has been completely impossible ever since she got home. Honestly, it's worse than when his arranged marriage kept them separated."

Roarke laughed at that, watching Leslie glower at Mariki. Christian had opened a branch of his business in London, and the whole thing had gone with an almost supernatural smoothness. A certain Sir Simon Lightwood-Wynton, recently knighted and even more recently married, owned a small building in a very attractive retail district and, upon hearing that Christian was seeking space to rent, had given him a deal that was impossible to beat. In no time at all Christian had been able to begin the arduous process of hiring people who met his standards of quality; they had to be very good on their own, but he also liked them to be familiar with his own way of doing things. He wanted seven computer specialists, an office manager, and a secretary with whom he would be keeping in touch as to the progress of the new branch; and that had meant long days of personal interviews and long tired nights of sleep. Leslie had been with him all through July, and they had spent Sundays playing tourist so that Christian could have some sort of break. They had also taken the last weekend in July and flown to Lilla Jordsö to visit Christian's family, finally meeting little Prince Matteus—Gerhard and Liselotta's son—and baby Princess Elisabeth, daughter of Cecilia and Axel. Liselotta was expecting a second child, due in late September, and had admitted to hoping for a girl, after which she and Gerhard planned to stop having children. Rudolf had split up with his longtime girlfriend several months before and was currently devoting himself to helping his father, Carl Johan, with the assorted landscaping projects going on around the castle grounds. And young Prince Roald, twenty-three, was still the classic hell-raiser, resulting in some teasing between Anna-Laura and Christian. Gabriella, they had learned, was in the process of divorce from Elias, who had never quite been able to accept the blow of learning she couldn't have children; and Margareta, still very single, had thrown herself into work with five different charities, which kept her away from the castle so much that the rest of the family joked about forgetting what she looked like.

But at the end of July Leslie's vacation time had elapsed and she had to return home to Fantasy Island; Christian, still in the process of hiring new employees, had planned to remain through August, and their separation at Heathrow had been difficult for them both. All month they'd stayed in close touch through e-mail, echoing their years apart, and once a week Christian called from London. He had been determined to come home by the beginning of September, no matter what; fortunately his office manager and secretary had already been installed early on and both knew the ropes well enough to be able to screen candidates for the last open position in the new branch. So Christian had left the final hiring up to them and had departed London over the weekend; he was due in on the ten-o'clock charter, and Leslie was in something of a frenzy.

"Just for that, Mariki, I'm going to stop eating right here and now," Leslie announced now, pushing back her chair and rising. Mariki rolled her eyes.

"That figures," she snorted. "I'm telling you, Miss Leslie, you're going to make yourself sick. Just as sick as sick can be."

"I am in perfectly fine health, thank you," Leslie retorted primly.

Roarke smiled a little wearily. "Before you continue with that age-old argument," he said, "I suggest, Mariki, that you kindly clear her place…and Leslie, I have an errand for you that will take up the time remaining until you go to meet the plane. There's plenty of outgoing mail to send, and I have three incoming packages at the post office that must be picked up, so why don't you handle that."

"Maybe I'll go to the plane with her," Mariki said, "just to tell Prince Christian that it's about time he got back here, so she'll quit moaning and groaning all the time."

"I am leaving now," Leslie announced with overdone dignity and marched across the veranda, to Roarke's resigned chuckling. Once out of their sight, though, she broke into a half-run, hurrying into the study to gather together all the outgoing mail and then rushing to the Enstads' car, parked in front of the main house as had become her habit in Christian's absence. She was thankfully unaware of Roarke's surprised and amused gaze on her as she went, and even more mercifully unaware of Mariki's choice comments, which Roarke had to tell her to squelch before his daughter happened somehow to overhear her.

By the time Leslie dropped off Roarke's packages at the main house, there was less than ten minutes remaining till the plane was due in, and she headed straight for the dock, parking and wandering across the clearing in the general direction of the landing ramp. At the moment no one was there except the attendants who moored the charter preparatory to disembarkation, and they waved at Leslie in greeting before resuming their quiet conversation. Leslie herself burned off nervous energy by pacing the clearing and frequently looking into the sky, straining her ears for the drone of the charter's engine.

Eventually she thought she heard it, and stared eagerly up, waiting. Sure enough, within ten seconds she saw the plane sail low across the sky, almost low enough, she thought, to see its passengers. It was another ten-minute ordeal while the charter landed, taxied into the lagoon and pulled to a stop at the dock, and several more minutes of waiting for the attendants to tie it down. Then the hatch popped open and four or five vacationing guests stepped out before Christian at last emerged—only to be stopped by an attendant who asked him a question. Leslie bounced impatiently on her feet, about to run up the dock herself to grab him, but at the last moment he replied, laughed and broke away. Instantly he spotted his wife and ran to meet her, catching her in his arms and whirling her around once before hugging her hard. "Leslie, my darling, do you know what a beautiful sight you are to come home to? I thought I'd never survive this trip!"

"I didn't either!" she exclaimed, half in tears with joy and relief that he was home. "I drove Father a little nuts, and Mariki was more of a pain than usual…"

Christian laughed. "Ah, familiar things. Oh, it's so good to be home." He held her close, burying his face in her hair and inhaling deeply. "My Rose…"

Leslie clung to him, breathing him in; he still had the same scent about him, of a little sandalwood soap underlying his rare cologne, and though he sounded weary, his voice was as warm and affectionate as always. "Christian…oh, Christian, my love, if you only knew how much I've missed you. The house seems so empty without you. I love you so much."

"Oh, I love you too, my darling, more than I can say. What a relief it is to be home with you. I presume," he added, drawing back and grinning at her, "that we're going directly there. Otherwise, you may find yourself being made love to right here in the clearing."

Leslie laughed and hugged him hard again. "I've missed you almost enough to let you. Come on, let's get out of here. There's no reason to waste any more time."

They gathered the two suitcases he had taken with him and headed for the car, each carrying one bag so they could hold hands, loath to release each other completely. Of course, once they reached the car they had to, and Christian caught her long enough to plant a quick kiss on her mouth. "Just as a prelude," he said. "I'd kiss you properly, only I don't think I'd be able to retain control if I did. So it'll wait until we're home."

On their way home they talked a little about the last week of Christian's stay in England, about the fantasies from the weekend just past, and a couple of mundane household matters, but their anticipation underpinned every word and they kept reaching out to touch each other. Finally, as Leslie pulled into their driveway, he said, "I'll be home the rest of this week, my darling, since for one thing I have to recover from a terminal case of jet lag. I'm all yours until I take you in to the main house as usual. And what of you?"

"Father told me he won't need me till Friday," Leslie said, killing the engine and smiling. "So by the time you've gotten over the worst of the jet lag, you'll be so sick of me that you'll be thrilled to death to see me leave Friday morning."

"Blasphemy," said Christian, pretending shock, and she burst out laughing. Grinning back, he added, "That would never happen, and you must be thoroughly mad to think so. Before I go up in flames from wanting you, let's get inside so we can do something about it. I'm actually thirsty, too. _Herregud,_ I want to do everything at once…eat, drink, sleep, make love to you…I don't know what comes first."

"Huh…speaking of blasphemy…" Leslie teased, and he roared with laughter. "Let's go, quick. I don't suppose you're going to give in to the inner neatnik and insist on unpacking before we turn to something a lot more interesting."

"Ah, well, maybe the suitcases can wait," Christian said cheerfully.

"_Maybe?"_ she shot back, eliciting more laughter from him, and they finally got out of the car, retrieved his bags and went inside. There, Christian grew serious: no sooner were they in than he dropped the suitcase he carried, removed the other from her hand, drew her in close and kissed her, long and deep. Leslie submitted instantly and without a sound, responding as eagerly as he, clinging to him and combing through his dark hair with one hand. Christian gathered a hank of her hair in his hand and stroked slowly down, managing to deepen the kiss still further, pressing her hard against him at her helpless moan of surrender. Neither wanted to let go, but before very long they found themselves beginning to pull at each other's clothing, which finally broke them apart.

"I need you," Christian whispered, gasping. "Right this moment."

"Don't wait," Leslie begged, pushing his shirt off his shoulders even as she spoke. "I can't wait, and I don't want you to, either." She reached down and molded her hand to him, her eyes widening for a moment. "Oh, my love…"

Christian's body convulsed gently at her touch, and he closed his eyes and moaned. "Be careful," he pleaded. "I don't have much restraint left." In reply she rapidly unbuckled his belt and undid the black slacks he wore, pausing once or twice to massage him a little, just to hear his groan. "You're killing me, Leslie! Please, don't torture me so…"

"I'm dying for you, Christian," she murmured. "Don't just stand there." Immediately he reached for her blouse, swiftly unbuttoned it and removed everything she wore from the waist up, except for the ruby heart necklace he'd given her, then bent long enough to take one breast into his mouth and suckle at it. Already desperate for him, she nearly reached her peak just from this, her breathing coming hard and fast and every exhalation a high-pitched little cry. "Now," she wailed at last.

Christian needed no further urging, stripping her completely and finishing the job she had started of removing his pants, then bracing her against the wall and deftly entering her, with her help. Too long denied each other, they had no patience, and both exploded within a minute, almost simultaneously. The moment Leslie shrieked his name, he followed her to fruition, crying out, "Leslie, my Leslie Rose…" The words died into a series of soft cries.

Barely recovered, she lifted her head and kissed him. "Oh, my love…I couldn't stop myself…it's been so long."

He smiled, still breathing heavily, and said softly, "Believe me, my Rose, I didn't have any more stamina than you did. I couldn't sleep on the flight from Los Angeles to Honolulu because all I could think of was making love to you. But now that we've bought ourselves a little more patience, I suggest we move to the bedroom, and we can indulge ourselves until we've exhausted all our energy." Christian shook his head slowly in wonder. "Just a month without you, and I've utterly lost my mind."

"You have company," she murmured, closing her eyes and twining her arms around his neck. He still stood there inside her, his head resting against hers as he worked to regain enough equilibrium to take her upstairs. Then, slowly, they disengaged, he set her back on the floor, and they joined hands, leaving suitcases and clothing where they lay in the foyer. She glanced back once and giggled softly at the sight. "Never thought we'd do that."

He followed her gaze and grinned lazily. "We have all sorts of time to go back and pick those things up. First, I want my fill of you, and I suspect that's going to take the better part of the day." At the top of the steps in the bedroom, he turned her to face him and kissed her, deeply but at leisure, before murmuring against her mouth, "How I love you, my Leslie Rose. I waited most of my life to find you, but you were worth every second of it, for I had never expected love to be like this."

"I didn't either," Leslie murmured, tears stinging her eyes. "I thought I was in love with Teppo, but there's no comparison. I love you so very much, my darling, so much that I can hardly remember what it was like the first time…there's just you."

Christian closed his eyes and groaned softly, taking her hand and guiding it to him. "Just a few words and you have me ready for you again. I'm yours, my Rose…do to me what you will." He kissed her again, then led her to the bed and tugged her down after him.

They passed the next couple of hours making love, until Christian could no longer stave off exhaustion and jet lag and went limp on his pillow. "I'm so sorry, my Rose," he said sleepily. "I just can't…"

"I know, my darling…it's all right," Leslie assured him and kissed him softly. "You sleep as long as you want. When you wake up, I'll be here, I promise you."

He smiled, his eyes slipping closed. "I love you, my Leslie Rose…" The words faded into silence, and five seconds later he was asleep. Leslie smiled, a wave of love swamping her and making her linger, stroking his hair. _I love you too, my amazing, wonderful prince,_ she thought. _You made me the luckiest girl on the planet. _She kissed his cheek and reluctantly slid off the bed, dressing in a tank top and shorts before retreating downstairs to get their clothes and his suitcases so she could unpack for him.

Late in the afternoon, after Christian had slept for about three hours and they'd made love for a little while longer, they were checking through e-mails from his family in Lilla Jordsö when the phone downstairs rang. "You're really sure you don't want an extension up here?" Leslie teased her husband. "Even here in the library? We could always turn off the ringer when we wanted to be purposely deaf."

Christian grinned. "Oh, that we'll see about," he said indulgently. "Hurry, my Rose, and at least see who that is."

She returned upstairs a couple of minutes later with the cordless living-room phone in her hand. "It's Father," she reported. "He's invited us to supper at the main house."

"Oh, yes, Mariki's cooking," Christian said with anticipation, "and that would save us the trouble of cooking for ourselves. Then we could just come back here and make love all night." He snickered at her expression, and she had to laugh. "Yes, it sounds enticing…I'd like that." Leslie nodded and relayed this to Roarke.

In another hour they pulled up in front of the main house and went inside, where Roarke was just putting the desk to rights. "Ah, Christian, welcome home!" he said warmly, coming around it and shaking hands with his son-in-law. "How was your trip?"

"Quite fruitful, Mr. Roarke," Christian said. "I'm lacking only one employee in the London branch and then we're fully in business. But you can't imagine how good it feels to be home again. Marriage to your daughter seems to have truly spoiled me. I've never felt as lonely in all my days as I did in London without Leslie."

Roarke chuckled and said, "Simply the sign of a happy and healthy marriage. I am given to understand that Mariki has prepared teriyaki chicken, a wide array of stir-fried vegetables and an assortment of fruit, so you shouldn't go hungry. Shall we?" The Enstads accompanied him out onto the veranda and around to the table, which Mariki was already loading; tantalizing smells wafted through the late-summer air.

"Welcome back, Prince Christian," said Mariki with a grin. "Hope you and Miss Leslie are hungry."

"Starved, now that I've caught those delicious scents," Christian told her, like Leslie and Roarke taking his usual chair. "I do have to admit to fatigue from so much traveling, but I anticipate a good night's sleep tonight. The trick is to stay awake long enough to satisfy my hunger and then get to the car after we're through."

Leslie remarked with a grin, "I hope you're not expecting me to carry you in case you do nod off in your chair. Mariki, maybe you'd better get him some coffee." They all laughed, and Mariki retreated, leaving them to the meal.

The threesome were engrossed in a very lively conversation, and thus even Roarke didn't at first notice the two figures who crossed the veranda toward them. Then a female voice with an accent remarked, "Well, well. So the rumors of your marriage are true."

They all stilled and turned to stare; Roarke and Leslie were blank, but Christian emitted a choked gasp, making his wife and father-in-law turn to him. "Christian, are you all right?" Leslie asked in alarm.

He nodded faintly, looking dazed, his hazel eyes nearly round with shock. Leslie shot the woman and her young male companion a nervous glance, then looked at Roarke, who had taken in Christian's reaction and was now assessing the visitors with slightly narrowed eyes. Christian slowly rose about halfway from his chair; Roarke glanced at him once, then said in an unmistakably implacable tone, "Perhaps you would be kind enough to tell us who you are and what you are doing here."

The woman surveyed the table, and it was plain that she realized they were in the middle of the meal, but didn't seem to care that she'd interrupted them. "My name," she said, eyeing Christian, "is Ingela Vikslund—and this is Kurt." She nudged her companion, a dark-haired boy, forward. "Christian Enstad, meet your son."


	2. Chapter 2

§ § § -- September 1, 2003

Both Christian and Leslie gawked at her, faces white and eyes nearly popping. Roarke sat up slowly, his own eyes going wide with amazement and then disbelief. "You seem very sure of yourself, Miss Vikslund," he said coolly. "Do you have absolute proof that the young man is indeed Christian's son?"

"Are you accusing me of lying, Mr. Roarke?" Ingela inquired, raising an eyebrow. "Kurt is nineteen years old, and he was born in February 1984." As she made this announcement she returned her expectant gaze to Christian. He actually seemed to get even paler and collapsed heavily back into his chair. He gaped at Kurt, who stared back, as if unable to quite believe he was really seeing the man his mother claimed had sired him.

Leslie glanced at Kurt, then at Christian, registering his deeply shocked look. She reached out and wrapped his hand tightly in hers, turning back to Kurt with a more assessing gaze. His hair was about the same color as Christian's, but he didn't have any other features that might have clearly marked him as an Enstad. The boy had his mother's gray eyes, but he didn't look much like her either.

Roarke took in mother and son, feeling a bit sorry for the boy, who had a faintly hungry look in his eyes, as if he were waiting for some signal of acceptance from Christian. The same eyes on his mother were icy and calculating, and Roarke wondered what she thought she could possibly gain by naming Christian as her son's father. "Rest assured, Miss Vikslund, your claim will be fully investigated and tested," he told her, calmly but coldly. "You must realize that we can't simply accept your mere word on the matter."

"Go ahead, Mr. Roarke, be my guest," Ingela said confidently. "Kurt knows who his father is. I made certain he grew up knowing."

"Indeed," said Roarke, and his regard of her grew flinty. Something in his eyes finally seemed to spook her, and her composed, confident mask slipped for a moment. "As I am sure you can see, you've interrupted a private dinner. If you'll be so kind as to return to your accommodations, we will summon you and your son when we are ready."

Ingela was a little too rattled to do more than nod, and she took her son's arm and pulled him along after her. Kurt went, but for most of the way across the porch he kept staring back over his shoulder at Christian.

Only when they were gone did Leslie and Roarke both turn to Christian, whose eyes were still wide and blank with the force of the shock Ingela had given him. Leslie's initial alarm grew into out-and-out fear, and she leaned toward him, wrapping her other hand around his along with the first one. "Christian, my love, say something," she pleaded.

"Is there any firm basis for her claim, Christian?" Roarke asked gently.

"I…" Christian croaked, then sat with his mouth open, as if groping through his stunned mind for a word, any word. Leslie squeezed his hand hard, bringing his gaze around to meet hers, which seemed to bring him back to life enough to finally speak. "She does have some basis, yes," he admitted slowly, watching Leslie as if for fear he might be rejected. "The boy's age is right…"

"I don't believe her," Leslie said flatly, shaking her head. "There'd be more of a family resemblance, because I see essentially the same basic features in you and your siblings and your nieces and nephews. All of you take after your mother, Christian—she seems to have had the sort of features that dominate in a family's genes. There's no reason to think that you'd be any different. If you and I have children I expect them to look more like you than me. And Kurt Vikslund doesn't resemble you closely enough, so I don't buy it."

Christian closed his eyes, released a breath, swallowed audibly and dropped limply back in his chair. "You seem so certain, my darling," he said softly, opening his eyes then and staring listlessly at her. "I only wish I were equally so."

Leslie stared back at him. "You mean…the dates…?"

Christian flicked a glance in Roarke's direction without quite meeting the latter man's eyes. "Yes, I'm afraid so," he said, very softly. "It's as if she were an apparition, waking up memories I didn't want disinterred. As I once mentioned to you, Mr. Roarke, we shared a bed only one time—and that one time was in May of 1983. And not even more than one encounter that lone night." He shook his head very slowly, as if it hurt to move it. "I know it takes only once, but—but…" Once more he stared at Leslie, a lost, pleading look in his eyes that made hers well up with tears.

"I don't believe her," she insisted. "She's going to have to prove it." She turned to Roarke, rubbing Christian's strangely cold hand between hers. "Father, there's still a DNA lab here on the island, isn't there? When we had that man here who thought he might be my half-brother…"

Roarke nodded. "Yes, we do still have a lab here, but they have been in business for some time since the incident you mention, and there will be a longer wait for the results than there was then." He turned to his son-in-law and said kindly, "Don't feel that you must rush simply to placate the lady, Christian. She has delivered you an incredible blow, and I think the best thing you can do is go home with Leslie, get as much rest as you can, and let it wait at least until tomorrow. I myself will be acting to investigate this as well."

Christian's gaze drifted dazedly over till he was looking at Roarke. "Do you believe her claim, Mr. Roarke?" he asked point-blank.

"No, my instinct tells me she is bluffing, even if she herself truly believes you are her son's father," Roarke replied. "There are too many suspicious factors to it, the most obvious of which is that she chose you as the object of her accusation: a former prince and a public figure, and a wealthy one at that."

Christian blinked, looking honestly astonished. "Then you…" he began.

"I am on your side, Christian," Roarke assured him, "just as much as Leslie is. You are my daughter's husband, and thus you are part of my family. And when someone levels an accusation at a member of my family, I don't stand idly by and let that person get away with it. She may be right or wrong—whatever the case, I intend to get the answers."

Christian closed his eyes again and let his head droop. "I'm deeply grateful, Mr. Roarke," he said softly, his voice bleak, "but I myself am not even certain she's wrong. I wish I had your confidence, Leslie, but I don't."

"I'm telling you, she _is_ wrong," Leslie insisted.

He looked up and smiled, just slightly. "May your faith be justified," he murmured.

Roarke surveyed his daughter, who was clearly on the verge of tears, and his son-in-law, still reeling from shock, confused and perhaps even a little frightened, and smiled at them both. "I think you need time to yourselves to come to terms with this," he said. "Try to sleep, both of you, and then come back here in the morning. We'll have the DNA testing done then. In the meantime, I have a telephone call to make, so if you would please excuse me…" Christian and Leslie both nodded, and he arose and started away from the table, squeezing Leslie's shoulder on his way.

She stood up then and gently tugged at Christian's hand. "Come on, my darling, let's go on home," she coaxed. When he reluctantly got to his feet, she stepped in and wrapped her arms around him. "Don't forget, I'm with you no matter what."

"Do you truly still want to be?" he asked hollowly.

Leslie drew back enough to look directly into his eyes. "Listen to me, Christian Enstad," she said, gently but firmly. "I love you more than anything else on earth, and when I married you, I promised to stand by you for all time. And that meant through anything and everything, big, small, good, bad. I'm telling you right now, I don't believe Kurt's your son—but if somehow it turns out he is, that won't change anything. I'll still stand by you, I'll still be your wife, and I'll still be desperately in love with you."

Christian moaned softly and hugged her hard. "I don't deserve you," he said shakily. "But so help me, since you're crazy enough to love me despite my past having come back to haunt me, I don't intend to let you go."

"And I _won't_ go," Leslie assured him, clinging to him and caressing his back. "I'm going to be here for you, I swear it. Let's go, my love. We need to be together, just us two alone."

Inside the main house, Roarke completed his phone call and slowly sat back in the desk chair, contemplating the confrontation that had so stunned Christian. It was fairly rare that a visitor to the island got hold of a charter-plane pass without his knowledge; but it was entirely possible. The staff who manned the gate at Honolulu International that served Fantasy Island's charter was equipped with extra passes, in case of emergencies or mitigating circumstances; for those who simply wanted to come to the island for a spur-of-the-moment vacation, the passes could be had—for a price. They weren't cheap; Roarke's intention in setting their $500 price tag had been to discourage too much ease in gaining access to his island. By and large, it worked, although occasionally one or another person got through. Clearly, to Ingela Vikslund, money was no object; he remembered Christian having once told him she was an oil heiress, which meant she could have bought passes for every person in the airport and never even noticed the expense. He sighed quietly and decided reluctantly that he'd have to raise the price of what was known among his staff as an "impulse pass". He had little to worry about from terrorists and other such unsavory types; despite his deliberately low profile, he had a certain reputation all the same. He couldn't be who he was, and run an operation like Fantasy Island, without word getting around somehow. In any case, his little island was still too remote and too small to be of much strategic interest in the game of world politics.

He shook his head slowly to himself. In some strange way he felt as if he had failed Christian. Since his marriage to Leslie, he had been a very happy man, and Roarke had sensed a deep peace within his son-in-law, a calm born of the knowledge that he enjoyed a true and enduring love. Christian had found the kind of total acceptance from his wife that he had never truly known with anyone else, even some of his own family; and Roarke sensed also that he looked at this place, his new home, as a refuge, a haven.

_It should have been so,_ he thought, frowning. _If Christian—a former prince, still a member of a royal family, and a public figure since the day of his birth—can't find shelter from the relentless eyes of the world here, on my island, then he can find it nowhere._ But Roarke recognized that even he couldn't completely hide Christian from those who were determined to find him. Ingela Vikslund had great incentive—or, at least, she believed she did. Roarke read the woman as a calculating sort who, when crossed, wouldn't hesitate to seek revenge in whatever form she could obtain it. He wondered what had happened that had made her try to get it in this fashion. Perhaps, if Christian were willing to talk a little, he might find an answer to that question, at least. He sighed quietly and tried to distract himself by doing some of the accounting that always plagued him at month's end.

A soft knock sounded at the door, and he called, "Come in." He heard the door open, but didn't look up immediately. However, the silence stretched, and when he did look up at last, he stilled for a moment. His visitor was Kurt Vikslund.

"Hello, Mr. Roarke," the boy said softly, in an accent that was reminiscent of Christian's faint one, but stronger. "I hope I'm not disturbing you."

"Not at all, Kurt," Roarke said, closing the ledger and setting it aside. "Would you like anything?" The boy shook his head, and Roarke gestured at a chair. "Sit if you prefer."

Slowly Kurt lowered himself into the leather chair and sat on the edge of the seat, a stiff and nervous mien radiating from him. Roarke waited in patient silence while Kurt tried to compose himself, with little success. At last Roarke prompted gently, "What may I do for you, Kurt?"

Kurt's gray eyes held a pleading look. "If you would, Mr. Roarke…tell me about—about Prince Christian. The man my mother says is my father."

"Before I do," Roarke said, letting an impulse have its way, "tell me something, if you would be so kind. Your mother appears to be unshakably convinced that Christian is your father. Are you as certain as she?"

Kurt pulled in a breath; he sounded defensive. "My mother's told me all my life that he's my father. I suppose she should know."

"But what of you?" Roarke persisted gently. "I ask because of the way you phrased your request. Do you fully believe that Christian is your father?"

"No," Kurt admitted, "not quite as strongly as she does. I think that's because she's always spoken of him with such bitterness, as if she were obsessed somehow. When I was a child I did believe he was my father, but I saw many photos of the royal family as I grew up, and I gradually noticed that they all have a certain family resemblance that I don't share. So I'm not so certain that my mother is right." He focused on Roarke and said in a yearning voice, "But I know that Prince Christian is a kind and warm man, and I'd give anything if he truly is my father."

Roarke nodded slowly. He detected the tiniest trace of resentment in Kurt's voice, an undertone Kurt himself was probably unaware of. The boy's longing for a father figure had clearly festered in him throughout his life; and though he professed for a wish to have that figure in Christian, he might also act on that resentment. "Assuming for one moment that Christian is your father," he said, "do you blame him for being absent from your life?"

"No," said Kurt. "It was made clear to me that he never knew about me. How could I blame someone for something he didn't know about?"

Roarke smiled. "You're a very bright and understanding young man," he said, "wise beyond your years. There's little question that, should Christian indeed prove to be your father, he will accept you. But try not to resent the fact that it will take a great deal of adjustment on his part—not to mention his wife's."

"She's your daughter, Mr. Roarke, isn't she?" Kurt asked, and on Roarke's nod went on, "She seems warm as well. I've seen some photos of them together. He looks so happy with her. Do you think…if he's my father…do you think she would resent me?"

"Not at all, Kurt," said Roarke. "Leslie hopes for a child of her own with Christian, but there is no reason in the world that she wouldn't welcome you into the family." He let a pause elapse, then said, "But you do realize this is conjecture and nothing more. Your mother delivered a great shock to Christian this evening—undoubtedly a calculated shock —and it will take him some time to absorb it enough to begin dealing with it in whatever way becomes necessary. Both you and he will have to submit to DNA testing so that it can be determined once and for all that he is, or isn't, the man who fathered you. That should happen tomorrow. I know you're hoping for a relationship with Christian; but don't try too hard. Give him a chance to approach you, all right?"

"Do you think he will?" Kurt asked anxiously.

"I'm afraid I can't answer that," Roarke said kindly. "Christian is a man for whom privacy is paramount. He guards himself very closely, and to the best of my knowledge, he opens himself completely only to Leslie. He has been betrayed before in attempts to reach out, and he will find it very difficult to reconcile this latest event—for I believe he'll see it as an attempt by your mother to gain something from him, to intrude upon his private life, even perhaps to destroy his happiness. I do know this much—if in fact he does see it as such, he won't blame you in any way. Christian is nothing if not a fair man."

A faint smile flickered across Kurt's features. "That's good to know," he said softly. "I thank you for your time, Mr. Roarke." He arose on Roarke's nod and smile and departed as quietly as he'd come in.

Once more Roarke tried to get some of the accounting done, but for a good while he had trouble concentrating. Too many innocent people stood to be badly hurt in this game Ingela Vikslund was playing; three vulnerable souls were caught up in her machinations. And, he realized, stilling and closing his eyes briefly, he himself was powerless to help. It was a feeling he didn't like, wasn't used to, and found so disquieting that he gave up on getting any more work done that evening and retired earlier than usual.


	3. Chapter 3

§ § § -- September 1, 2003

Neither Christian nor Leslie had spoken all the way home, both still blindsided by the shock they'd received. The twenty-minute drive back to the Enclave gave them too much time to think, and though they held hands, they were shut away within themselves, both quietly fretting over entirely different things.

_Is she right?_ Christian thought, still dazed, probing the question as he might have gingerly poked at a very sore bruise. _Is that boy really my…my son? Only once did I actually have intercourse with her that night. I can't remember the precise date, but I know it was somewhere in May of 1983. And I remember being talked into it, and feeling a bit drunk and a little ill, but too easily persuaded. It hardly seems possible. I do know it's not fair at all. One loveless encounter with Ingela and I may have produced a child…but two and a half years of making love with my wife, who I know wants a baby, and—nothing. What happens if she's right, and he truly is my son? What will I do? Will he resent me for not having been in his life all this time? Will I be able to accept him? Will I be able to get used to the very idea?_

_I can't believe it,_ Leslie thought. _Out of the blue, my husband might be a father. No, no, no—I_ still _don't believe it. I think that woman's just using that poor boy to try to blackmail Christian out of something. What a cold witch she must be. Does she even realize the way she's using her son? That she could hurt him just as much as Christian with what she's trying to do? That she's going to hurt us all? What if…no, I don't believe it…I don't, I don't, I don't…yet, if he is…if he is, it means that it's my fault Christian and I haven't had a baby yet. If Kurt's really Christian's son, then I'm the one who's infertile. Oh, please, no! No, I'm not going to believe it!_

Once Leslie had parked the car in the dark garage, she and Christian both sat in silence for several minutes, listening to the ticking of the cooling engine, feeling increasingly lost and frightened. Finally Christian said, "We can't sit here all night, my Rose. Come on, let's get inside and try to talk about this. We've got to get it out before it starts to drive us apart. Please."

"You're right—we do," Leslie said, tightening her grip on his hand out of sheer relief. "I've been thinking that too, but I didn't know how to start."

Christian smiled faintly. "I didn't either…I merely said the first thing that came to my mind. Let's go in. I have some questions I need to kick around."

Inside the house they drew blinds and shades for the night, retreated to the bedroom and opened the window, then changed for bed in the faint light from stars winking in the skylight over their bed. Leslie came out of the bathroom as Christian finished drawing the blinds over the French doors to the deck, and he turned when he heard her footsteps. "I need to know one thing before I start," he said, holding himself still, watching her stop in front of the bed. "Leslie, my Rose, do you still love me?"

"That's the most absurd question you could have ever asked me," she said, very gently. "There's nothing you could ever do or say that would make me stop loving you, my darling. I love you so much I can't hold it all. I'll tell you the same thing every time you ask me that. I love you, Christian—I love you more than life." She held out her arms. "Please come here and hold me, my love…I feel cold."

Instantly Christian went to her and gathered her close against him, trembling perceptibly with relief. "I love you with all I am, my Rose, and I simply couldn't survive without you. You're as essential to me as air and water. You can't realize how deeply I love you, and any threat to that panics me. So please, my darling, I beg you to be patient with me when I ask you again and again if you still love me. I need to be certain."

"I'll keep telling you how much I love you till you believe it," she said softly, her voice a little shaky, and Christian clearly heard the undertone of hurt. He groaned.

"_Herregud,_ my darling, I didn't mean to make you think I doubt you. It isn't that at all. I just…I just want to hear it…I don't know how to explain it. You've been the one person in my life whose love I counted on from the very beginning, without ever one moment of doubt or disbelief. Oh, Leslie, I don't know how to make you see…"

She closed her eyes and nestled against him. "I think I do," she ventured slowly. "You needed that same reassurance from your parents as a child, and you never got it from your father…and even though you knew your mother loved you, you still had doubts."

"Yes, exactly so. I can't tell you how much I wished for unconditional acceptance as I was growing up. It never really came. Perhaps from Mother, although I remember doubting her when I was young, at least once." Christian gave a great sigh and kissed the top of her head. "It seems the one lesson I'm finally learning is that love must have trust to survive. I'm so sorry, my Rose—I swear to you, I won't ask you again. I'll trust in your love for me, without demanding that you constantly repeat yourself. You won't have to say it unless you want to. I'd never hurt you, my darling."

"I know, my love, I know," Leslie murmured, hugging him hard. "Just promise me one thing. When you start rebuilding those fortress walls, make sure I'm on the inside with you, please. I need to be sure you love me enough to do that for me."

Christian tilted her head back and kissed her softly. "I can promise you that with no trouble at all." He gazed at her for a moment. "Are we agreed that we love each other beyond all comprehension and won't have any more doubt?"

Leslie nodded and smiled at him. "We're agreed," she said. "And now that that's cleared up…what precisely are we standing together against?"

"Ingela Vikslund," he said through another sigh. "Beyond the bombshell she threw at us, beyond the fact that she bore a child and claims that I'm his father…there's been one question running through my head. Why did she wait all this time to reveal him?"

"She wants to blackmail you," Leslie guessed.

"But why? It can't be money," Christian reasoned. "She has far more wealth than I can ever hope to amass, and that would be true even if I were still a prince and could tap into the royal treasury."

"Then it must have something to do with your having been a prince," Leslie said thoughtfully. "Even if you can't claim the title anymore, you still belong to the royal family, and that seems like enough incentive to me. Maybe it's just notoriety she wants, some kind of perceived elevation in social status because she believes her son was fathered by a prince. In my experience, the only thing that impresses the rich is royalty, or at least nobility."

Christian grinned ruefully. "Well, I can tell you one thing: she can't buy herself a title, certainly not through me in any case. First and foremost, if anyone had the right to lay claim to a title through me, it would be you—and of course, don't forget, you did for a few months. Secondly, now that I no longer have the title, there would be nothing left for her to buy anyway. Thirdly, if she's looking for the title for her son, she'd fail there as well."

"How so?" Leslie asked curiously.

"Royal status is a very jealously guarded privilege," Christian said. "It can be conferred in only two ways—by birth or by marriage. I was born royalty; you married into it. Thus, at least if I were still a prince, we would both be legitimately entitled to claim the status. But to be born royal, one's parents have to be married to each other. Fortunately for me—or perhaps not, under the circumstances—my mother and father were married for quite a few years before my birth, so no one could dispute my claim to princehood. Ingela and I were never wed, of course. If Kurt is my son, he's illegitimate, and therefore can't lay claim to the title of prince."

"I've always wondered something," Leslie said. "This is purely theoretical. Let's say you'd never met me and were still single, and Ingela came along and told you about Kurt, and he turned out to be your son. And let's say that somehow you and Ingela fell in love and got married. Would that allow Kurt to call himself a prince?"

"Before I answer that," Christian said humorously, "perish that entire train of thought before it makes me ill." She laughed, and he grinned back. "Quite honestly, I don't know. I have no idea if _jordisk_ law even addresses such a possibility. I could always ask…" He broke off and grimaced. "Fate help me. If I did ask someone in the family, they'd want to know why I was asking. We may never learn the answer to that one, my Rose."

Leslie huddled against him, shivering a little. "It's not really that important. It's a moot point anyway. There's no way in hell I'd ever give you up to that woman, even if you actually wanted to go. Oh, Christian…"

He promptly tightened his embrace, rocking her and gently shushing her. "It's all right, my darling. As long as we stand together, it's all right."

But secretly Christian wondered how "all right" it was going to be. He had the sense that they were dealing with a pretty formidable enemy; and the whole situation kept bringing back unwelcome recollections of his lone coupling with Ingela. As much as Christian tried to banish the images, they kept creeping back, and he fought to concentrate on Leslie in his arms, the warmth of her body against his, the silky softness of her hair under his hand, her scent and her voice and her love for him.

Leslie, too, was fighting her own creeping anxiety. She would be the first to deny that Kurt Vikslund was Christian's son—but until it was proven one way or the other, there was room enough for her to wonder, and to fret, and to feel inadequate. _I want Christian's baby,_ she realized, tightening her hold on him. _I should be the mother of his children, not Ingela. It should be me. There's got to be a reason I haven't gotten pregnant. Maybe we just aren't trying hard enough…I wonder if Christian would mind…well, I don't suppose he would. We've never been able to resist each other and we know it…his family's teased us about it enough. But so help me, I want to have Christian's child._

Christian gritted his teeth. _Damn that woman! Damn her for shattering my world, like so many others have tried to do! I won't let go of Leslie—the one woman I've ever been able to fall honestly in love with. She can't do anything to make me give up my wife. If that boy actually is my son, he'll have to accept Leslie as his stepmother, or right off, that will be one big problem between us. Damn the woman for insisting I sleep with her that night…and damn me for not being strong enough to refuse her. _ He felt oddly violated somehow, just from the memory, and found himself suddenly in need of a sort of "cleansing." _ Will Leslie let me—?_ He drew back and pleaded, "Leslie, my darling, let me make love to you, please. I need you more than ever. More than you can dream."

"I need you too," she said, clutching him. "Please, Christian, yes—make love to me. Please, my love, yes!"

"My beautiful Rose," he breathed and kissed her; she responded so fervently that he was almost instantly lost. Driven by separate needs, they came together in a near frenzy, collapsing onto the bed and tangling in each other, removing barely enough clothing to facilitate the act. And when it was over, they were both crying, both tearfully asserting their love for each other, trying to comfort each other—and themselves in the bargain.

§ § § -- September 2, 2003

Christian and Leslie ate what little breakfast they could at home, unwilling to face Mariki's endless persistence that they eat more than they felt capable of holding. Then they slowly dressed, watching each other, trying to smile, and finally unable to stay away from each other. As he was looking for his watch and wedding ring, she came up to him and burrowed into his arms, burying her face in his shoulder.

"My poor Rose," Christian murmured sadly, holding her close and stroking her hair. "It's killing you, I can see it. I've been kicking myself for being unable to resist Ingela's pleas that night. I wish more than you know that I could…"

"No, my darling," she broke in. "Don't punish yourself that way. You can't second-guess every move you ever made in the fear that it'll affect our marriage and our love for each other now." She looked up at him. "Father might ask you some questions, the way he did when the Astrid Franzén thing broke. Do you think you can answer them?"

"As long as you're there, it'll be all right," Christian told her. "Have I ever told you how grateful I've always been to know that you're there beside me through all these ordeals? You pulled me through Arnulf's death and made me see that I wasn't to blame. You stood by my side when that damned count tried to sell my soul to Mephistopheles. You were there when people looked at me askance after Astrid announced her illness." He winced in the wake of his recitation and remarked ruefully, "It must seem to you that my entire life has been one long, ridiculous circus."

She grinned a little. "With you as the ringmaster?" she kidded, and they both laughed softly. "You were born a prince, my darling Christian, and that wasn't something you had any control over. You did all you could to keep your life your own, and if sometimes it slipped out of your grasp, it was the vagaries of the public life you couldn't escape. And anyway, we all make stupid mistakes. I've made enough of my own."

"Have you really?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "Perhaps so, but they certainly weren't on the public stage, as mine were."

"Well, one of them nearly was," she said and made a face.

He peered at her with rising interest. "Is that so? May I ask what?"

He watched her turn red and wince. "You can ask, but I don't know if I can find the wherewithal to tell you. I mean, even Father doesn't know about this one."

He grinned. "Now I _really_ want to know." Leslie snorted and gave him a halfhearted whack on the upper arm, and he laughed, hugging her. "You can tell me on the way to the main house, my Rose. Now what did I do with my watch and my wedding ring?"

"Your watch, my love, is right over there on the dresser where you left it, and you're already wearing your ring," Leslie told him with a grin.

Christian rolled his eyes. "A sign, I expect, of my muddled mental state. Well, even if neither of us had found my watch, at least I have my ring on, and damn it, that's important to me, considering what we're facing." He slipped his fingertips under her chin and tilted her head back. "I want to be certain Ingela sees that ring on my finger and knows once and for all that I'm your husband and always will be. She'll know the significance of it, because as I told you once, _jordisk_ royalty seldom wear wedding rings, and she knows that."

Leslie smiled. "Solidarity," she said. "Don't you worry, my love, I'm here for you—I'm always here for you. Now, if you're really going to make me tell you that story—"

"It's only fair," Christian said, taking her hand and bringing her along to the dresser to retrieve his watch and pull it on. "You've already seen firsthand the repercussions of events from my past, and it's time for you to reciprocate."

"What, are you keeping score or something?" she snorted playfully, making him laugh. "Okay, okay. You drive, and I'll talk."

Pulling out of their driveway, he gave her an expectant look. "So let's have it."

Leslie sighed. "It was maybe a week after Teppo and I had been married, and we'd gone back to Finland. For some reason it's very hard to find housing in Finland. You have to get on a waiting list in the bigger cities. Teppo's family lived in Tampere, so as soon as we got back, Teppo put our names on the list. Meanwhile we set up house in his parents' cellar where they had a little apartment, with one bedroom and a little TV room, and a kind of galley kitchen, and a bathroom so small I couldn't stretch my arms out straight on both sides without hitting the walls. It annoyed the heck out of Teppo to have to live under his mother's roof. His father had died here on the island and his mother was already starting to lose her mind, and as a result Teppo had to step in pretty frequently and deal out discipline to most of his younger siblings. His one sister was my age and tried to help out a little with that, but she had her own life…she was dating some guy who'd inherited his parents' apartment and planned to marry him and move in with him. So the fact that Teppo was sort of playing parent disrupted things a bit."

"What a life," Christian muttered.

"Yeah," Leslie agreed. "So anyway, there we were. Teppo had a job in his father's business and was going to school at the same time, and he wasn't making much money. I couldn't do a blessed thing because I wasn't a citizen and didn't speak the language. I felt like an appendage, because he had to support me. So one day his second-oldest sister was reading some ridiculous tabloid magazine from Sweden, translating some of the stories for my benefit, and I thought it sounded as bad as some of the American tabloids I'd seen. But we were desperate for money, and Kerttu—his sister—said they'd buy anything at all, without even substantiating it. And I got this incredibly stupid idea, which I broached at Teppo that evening when he got home from work. I told him about Kerttu's magazine, and it made him laugh, and he asked me if I'd gotten some laughs out of it. It looked as if he had no problem with it, and there were funeral bills coming due for his father…so I just blurted it out. I told him maybe we could sell the story of his possession by Lempo to that magazine."

"_Herregud,"_ said Christian, staring at her in astonishment for a moment.

"Watch the road, my love," she exclaimed.

He glanced ahead quickly before giving her another disbelieving look. "You actually suggested that?" he asked.

"Yes, I did—and more than that, Teppo thought it might not be a bad idea. So we got in touch with the rag, and they came out and did a huge interview and took a picture of him for it. When Kerttu got her copy of that issue, she gave it to me for a souvenir, and when Teppo came home he read it to me in English. They put a real horror-story slant on it and exaggerated most of the details. The picture they took of him was a little square head shot in the bottom right corner of the page, and half the space allotted to it was taken up by an old wood-block print of Lempo and this headline in big red bloody letters that screamed, _I Was Possessed by an Ancient Finnish God!_ It looked ridiculous. Teppo just laughed at it and said the money was worth it, and nobody'd remember a silly story like that anyway."

"Guess what," Christian told her with a sudden smirk. "I do."

"What?" Leslie asked, startled.

He shot her a grin. "I was casually seeing Maria Dahl at the time, and she liked to read that particular rag. We were on the set of the film she was shooting near Ormssvärd's Landing one evening, and she was suddenly called to do a scene. I poked through the tabloid just to see what was in it, and noticed a tiny piece about her and me…which happened to be on the same page as the story you convinced Teppo to sell them. I didn't read it, because the headline put me off immediately. But I think that's why I remember. Long before you and I ever met, we were…how shall I say it…on the same page."

"Oh, Christian Enstad, you and your awful puns!" Leslie groaned and slapped his thigh, making him laugh.

"I know," he agreed cheerfully. "Were there repercussions?"

"The neighbors thought we'd sunk pretty low. His mother was already too lost in her own world to notice or care. Teppo's brothers and sisters were incensed. Kerttu turned traitor on me and claimed I'd come up with it all on my own, as if she'd never even said anything about them buying such stories. And mostly she was right. But that's when I began to realize that his family wasn't going to accept me as their brother's wife. Teppo tried to shield me from them when he could, since it was five against one—his oldest sister was more or less my friend—but he couldn't always be there, and I had a disadvantage due to lack of knowledge of Finnish. And not only that, they were waiting for Teppo to get me pregnant, and when I didn't conceive and didn't conceive, they started blaming me."

Christian shook his head. "Without question, they were a pack of idiots. Leslie, my darling, I realize you told me that you and Teppo would probably have eventually divorced, but dare I say it—I think you were better off being widowed. And I also think it was a small blessing that you never became pregnant by Teppo. It allowed you to make a clean and complete break after he was killed."

"I realized that myself, later," Leslie said. "And it was about as complete as it could get, at least once Teppo's mother's attempt to resuscitate him failed—"

"Now wait, wait just one moment—you've never told me about that. She tried to do _what?"_ Christian demanded in disbelief.

"I didn't?" asked Leslie. "Well, she'd come pretty close to certifiable, and his death pushed her over that critical edge. I almost killed myself from the grief. I don't remember much of his funeral because I blacked out fairly early on and didn't come to for a couple of days. By then the only one who'd have anything to do with me was his one sister, Mielikki. She told me very gently that Teppo's mother was in an asylum and his other siblings had kicked me out of the house. She'd gone over and collected my clothes and other things, enough to fill the suitcases I'd originally taken with me from Fantasy Island, and said I could stay with her and her family for a while till I could get onto my own two feet. I agreed…I was weak and crazy with grief, and I couldn't think straight. But I was there for maybe three weeks or so, and the longer I stayed with them, the more of a burden I felt like. So I decided it was time to get out and go home. I packed up everything I owned, used the last of Teppo's and my savings to buy plane tickets home, and left…sneaked out like a thief in the middle of the night." She caught Christian's soft chuckle and gratefully wrapped her hand around his when he took it.

"So how did this attempt at resuscitation come about? Who did she think she was, Frankenstein or something?" Christian asked humorously.

"Funny you should put it that way," she remarked, and with that told him the story of the first fantasy she had ever helped Roarke grant as his assistant. Christian listened, shaking his head from time to time and squeezing her hand; the story took them all the way to the main house. "And," Leslie concluded, "that's why Teppo's buried here. His siblings didn't believe me when I told them it had been his last request, but Father backed me up and they couldn't argue with him. Only Mielikki agreed that it was the best thing to do. So we had a little service, and Father and I commissioned the headstone, and it was the last I ever saw of the Komainens. Mielikki wrote to me now and then for a year or two, but she fell out of touch too. Maybe it's just as well."

"I think so," Christian said. "Well, here we are. Put all that out of your head, my Rose, and let's turn our minds to more immediate matters." He stopped the car and killed the engine, turning to her and lifting her hand to his cheek. "Just knowing you're with me will make this a little easier."

Leslie smiled at him. "Are you going to be okay?"

"Yes, because you're here." Christian smiled back. "Let's get this over with."


	4. Chapter 4

§ § § -- September 2, 2003

They ventured into the house and found Roarke waiting behind the desk. "We will be meeting Miss Vikslund and her son at the laboratory," Roarke said after they had greeted one another. "If you'd drive, Leslie…"

She nodded agreement, and they went back out to the car. The lab had been built within sight of the island's hospital, on a small promontory a distance off the Ring Road's southern section, about a mile west of the plane dock. Both enjoyed wonderful ocean views. The building had gone under construction not too long after the fantasy in which Leslie had for a while thought she might have a half-brother, and had been completed a couple of weeks after she and Christian had moved into their current home, just as they'd come back from Arnulf's funeral and Gabriella's coronation in Lilla Jordsö. It was a low one-story building with an airy, plant-filled reception room, and when they walked in the two figures in chairs there immediately arose and approached them. Christian's hand tightened around Leslie's, but for a moment no one said anything. Kurt watched Christian with that same wistful, hopeful look; Ingela seemed a little annoyed. Finally she remarked, "We've been waiting some time for you."

"I'm glad to see that you're on time," replied Roarke with a smile. "Good morning to you both." He turned to the receptionist. "Are the doctors ready?"

The native woman, a few years younger than Leslie perhaps, checked her appointment book and looked up with a return smile at him. "Yes, Mr. Roarke…Mr. Enstad is to see Dr. Tourek, and Mr. Vikslund will be seeing Dr. de Ridder. They're both ready for you."

"What will they do?" Kurt asked, looking nervous.

"It takes no more than a moment," said the receptionist. "They'll just swab the inside of your cheek and that's all there is to it. We're not too busy right now, so the results should be ready for you by the end of the week. May we notify you, Mr. Roarke?"

"Of course," said Roarke. The receptionist nodded and smiled, then turned to Christian and Kurt. "Just come back here and I'll show you into the offices."

Christian gave Leslie's hand one last squeeze before releasing it and going to the entrance to the offices. Kurt trailed a few steps behind him, still watching him but looking increasingly despondent; so far Christian hadn't even looked at him. Leslie watched her husband go, then looked at Roarke, relieved that he was there to be a buffer between her and Ingela. "Should we bother sitting down?" she asked.

"Only if you wish," Roarke told her and smiled. "Don't worry, child."

Ingela watched the byplay between the two, as if gathering information. Accidentally Leslie met her gaze, blinked once and looked quickly away, skittish and nervous. Instantly she knew she'd made a tactical error: she should have simply looked back at the woman, without letting her see her inner turmoil. Ingela seemed the sort to take advantage of it. But Ingela didn't say anything; in fact no one spoke, and only Roarke was fully at ease. Ingela eyed Leslie with an odd, assessing look from time to time; Leslie wandered to the window, trying to find some solace in the view, wishing she couldn't feel Ingela's eyes on her all the time and holding herself unnaturally still in an attempt not to shiver.

In about ten minutes they heard footsteps and turned to see who it was; Christian emerged from the hallway leading to the offices, and Leslie visibly relaxed with relief. He saw it, smiled at her and came to her side, slipping an arm around her shoulders. "They were right," he remarked, "it didn't take very long."

"So where is Kurt, then?" Ingela demanded.

"Right here," said Kurt's voice, and he came into the reception area. "It took me a little longer to fill out the form because I had to show my passport and they needed a copy."

Ingela snorted. "Paperwork," she muttered. "Mr. Roarke, I'm returning to my bungalow. I have phone calls to make to my sisters and to my attorney." Roarke nodded in response, and she stalked out, leaving her son standing there looking uncertain.

For the first time Christian took a good look at the boy, his face mostly expressionless, though both Roarke and Leslie could see the tension in his jaw. Finally he said, "Why is it that I never knew about you until now?"

Kurt blinked at him, eyes wide as if with surprise that Christian had actually spoken to him; then he said hesitantly, "It's a long story, Your Highness. I wonder if perhaps it's all right with Mr. Roarke to talk at his home."

"Of course, Kurt," said Roarke. "I'm certain both you and Christian have quite a few questions to ask each other."

"And it'll be easier without Ingela around," Christian added tightly, glancing over his shoulder toward the entrance. He closed his eyes and drew in a steadying breath, then focused on Kurt. "Before we go on, Kurt, I just want to clarify something. I'm not angry with you, nor I am resentful of your existence. It's your mother I have problems with, not you. And incidentally, you need not address me as 'Your Highness'…just call me Christian, that will be fine."

Kurt smiled hopefully. "I'd like that…thank you."

"Why don't we return to the main house, and I'll have some refreshments brought out if anyone would like them," Roarke said. The others agreed, and in about ten minutes they'd all seated themselves around the tea table, with various beverages and a plate of snacks set out. Both Leslie and Roarke noticed that Kurt followed Christian's choice of beverage, and they glanced at each other.

It wasn't lost on Christian either. "Do you like sangria, then?" he asked Kurt.

"I'm not sure," the boy admitted a bit sheepishly. "I don't even know what it is."

For the first time everyone laughed. "It's Leslie's favorite," Christian said, "and she urged me to try it. It seems Mariki, Mr. Roarke's cook, has her own special recipe that Leslie is partial to, and I myself have grown to like it very much. Don't worry, it's nonalcoholic." He sat back and handed one of two glasses to Leslie, who smiled her thanks.

Kurt took a sip, then grinned broadly. "You can tell Mariki she has another fan of her sangria," he said with enthusiasm, and again they laughed. Relaxing a little, they settled themselves a bit more comfortably in their seats.

Christian finally took the plunge. "So…tell me why I was never informed of your existence, Kurt, if your mother is so certain that I'm your father."

Kurt drew in a breath and thought for a moment. "I probably don't know everything, but I can tell you what I do know. I was born and raised in Stockholm; our family has a large luxury apartment on Karlavägen in the city. Mother and I lived a very private life. I knew who my grandfather was, but I never met him. Mother's parents were divorced, and Grandmother came to live with us, until she died when I was ten. She told me of my aunts, and some cousins that I have, and I heard stories about Lilla Jordsö." He sighed wistfully. "But I never set foot on _jordisk_ soil until my grandfather died a month ago, and we went there for his funeral."

"I see," said Christian. "But why wasn't I told?"

"Mother wasn't allowed," Kurt said. "I don't know why, but she was forbidden to reveal my existence. She had to pass us off as distant Vikslund relations, so that the media wouldn't ask questions. It didn't stop her from telling over and over again about the days when you and she were a couple, and she insisted every time that you were my father. And she got magazines from Lilla Jordsö, so she could keep up with events there. I saw pictures of you and the rest of the royal family, and I learned that you were the favorite of the people, and I was happy to know that you were my father. But around the time my grandmother died, I began to compare my face in the mirror to the photos I saw of you, and I realized I don't really look much like you. That's when I started to wonder if Mother was really telling me the truth." He swallowed and looked away. "It upset me, because I thought you seemed like a decent and genuine person, and I really wanted to be your son." His eyes met Christian's once more and he added with raw hope, "I still do."

Silence fell, while Christian sat still and contemplated Kurt's words and his final wish. Then he focused on the boy and smiled just slightly. "I appreciate that, Kurt," he said, "and for what it's worth, you seem like a decent and genuine young man yourself. I'm sure that can't have been Ingela's influence." Kurt shrugged at that, reddening noticeably, and Christian's smile widened a bit and grew sympathetic. "You must understand what an utter shock this is to me. Your mother was nice company for a while, but I was never able to fall in love with her. She talked me into our one and only encounter, the night she thinks you were conceived."

"What happened that you didn't stay together?" Kurt asked.

Christian frowned. "She betrayed my privacy," he said and added to Roarke, "You know, of course, how I am about that." Roarke nodded, and Christian sighed and slid his arm around Leslie again. "It's been twenty years. My recollection now is that we had been to some party at the Swiss embassy. It was purely a social affair, exactly the sort that always put me off because there was no real purpose to it—but both my parents, all my siblings and both of my sisters-in-law were attending, and they all insisted I must be there because it might be seen as a snub in some way if I didn't go. So I took Ingela with me. To cope with the situation, I drank far more wine than I should have. I tried to find something to eat to help cut back the effect, but the _hors d'oeuvres_ weren't exactly worthy of the name." He smiled wryly at their soft chuckles. "In any case, I knew I wasn't good to drive, so Ingela took the wheel of my car and brought us back to my flat. In my condition, it didn't take so much for her to persuade me to…" His voice trailed off.

"I remember you telling me once that she had to talk you into it," Leslie said gently.

Christian nodded. "Well, afterward I fell asleep for a while, and when I woke up I had a terrible headache. Then I heard Ingela's voice and realized she was on the phone with someone, talking about her evening with me. She didn't exactly mince words. I was furious. I insisted she call a taxi and get out, and made it clear to her that I wouldn't be seeing her again. Her standing there in my bedroom, on my telephone, gossiping to some friend of hers—it was simply inexcusable."

"What incredibly bad taste," said Leslie, shaking her head.

"Carl Johan called it gauche," Christian remembered. "The following Monday, it made the gossip media, and I was livid. Fortunately, Carl Johan talked some sense back into me, and I simply held my silence. Ingela tried to keep up the pretense that she and I were still seeing each other, but it had become fairly clear that this wasn't so, and she finally admitted that it was over. Soon after that she disappeared from the public scene, and I never heard of her again." He looked at Kurt. "That's as much as I know."

Kurt nodded faintly, his eyes troubled. "You truly never heard any more of Mother after you asked her to leave?" he persisted a little plaintively.

"Nothing," said Christian, studying him. "Why?"

"I just thought…" Kurt shrugged. "I don't really know what I thought. I suppose I was only looking for something that would make it a certain thing that you…"

"That I fathered you," Christian filled in gently. "I suppose I can understand your feelings, Kurt. But please don't get your hopes up. Until we know for certain, it's going to be a hellish few days for us all. And even if I do turn out to be your father, it's not going to be so easy on us. I have questions for Ingela, and I don't feel very charitable toward her. I'd suggest you try to be elsewhere when I confront her…for I know I'll have to, and I'd not like to see you caught in the crossfire."

"Thank you, Christian," Kurt said softly.

"More than that," Christian went on, "I don't think there's any chance for even much civility between Ingela and me. What she did to me that night—I can't make it plain enough how thoroughly that cut through me. To have her happily chattering to some friend about the way she'd managed to talk the prince into sleeping with her…and not just that, but to have her do it right there where I could hear her, as if she didn't care that I might—it offended me on every level. In my eyes, she committed the worst possible offense she could against me, and I found it unforgivable. Do you see my position on this?"

Kurt nodded earnestly. "I do, believe me. I don't blame you at all." He hesitated. "But if we truly are father and son…would you be willing to…to stay in touch? I don't ask any more than that. I don't think I really have a right."

Christian's faint smile returned. "If we are father and son, then yes, I would be willing to remain in touch. I'd ask only that you treat Leslie with respect. She's my wife, and I love her more than anyone else I've ever known. Others hurt her under peril of my wrath, and I do have a temper, I should warn you—a rather nasty one if I'm provoked enough."

"I figured that from hearing about your reaction to Mother's gossip session," Kurt said with a surprising flash of humor, and they all laughed before the boy shifted his attention to Leslie. "I can see how happy you and Christian are together. I've seen photos of you and I could see it then, too. I…I think I ought to tell you that my mother was very resentful of you when the news of your marriage came out. She used to say that one day she was going to win Christian back. I hope…I hope you won't let her hurt you."

"Leslie has a bit of temper of her own," Roarke remarked humorously. "When she is pushed hard enough, she'll strike back—sometimes unexpectedly."

"Are you calling me a snake?" Leslie asked teasingly, evoking chuckles from Roarke and Christian. "It's not that I enjoy confrontations, but I like even less the idea of someone getting away with cruel remarks or accusations—not just against me but against someone I love, especially Christian or Father."

Kurt grinned, taking in the sight of Christian's arm around Leslie and her seated stance beside him—her body turned in towards his and her head sometimes touching the side of Christian's. "I can see you two are a true team. In that case, my mother had better be very, very careful."

When the laughter died out, Roarke studied Kurt thoughtfully. "You've been taking all this remarkably well, Kurt. You strike me as an extraordinary young man."

Kurt frowned. "I think it's because of my mother's approach to all this. She's always told me that one day, Christian would know about me, but she always said it in a way that suggested to me that she wanted something for herself. That is, not so that I would finally know my father, but so that she could have some kind of satisfaction. I never liked her attitude about it. She's been bitter about it ever since I can remember." He looked at Christian. "If we're not father and son, then right now I apologize for what she's been putting you through. It's just not right."

Christian grinned. "Perhaps I'll stay in touch with you even if we're not father and son. I agree with Mr. Roarke's assessment of you. Something tells me that if Ingela's wrong, she's going to get an earful from you, too."

Kurt nodded, grinning ruefully back. "If she's right…" He broke off and hung his head for a moment, staring into his glass; Roarke, Leslie and Christian waited quietly, watching him. "If she's right," he admitted finally, "you'll never be able to get rid of her."

Roarke cleared his throat. "Don't worry about that now, Kurt," he said kindly. "For the moment, we can only wait to find out the results of the test, and that will determine whatever action is to be taken next."


	5. Chapter 5

§ § § -- September 3, 2003

Christian lay wide awake, facing his wife, watching her as she slept. An hour ago they had made love, and now she had a peaceful look on her face in sleep, as if being beside him made the world right again. If only it were true. Christian marveled that Leslie stood so stubbornly by him in this strange and unsettled matter. He might have expected her to turn away, but oddly enough she'd become slightly clingy instead. It had been Leslie who'd pleaded with him that they make love, and Christian—never able to resist her—had gladly agreed, giving all of himself to her as he had at long last learned to do, trusting her with all that he was. He studied Leslie's face in the soft light that shone from the skylight, reached out and gently stroked her cheek with one finger, smiling faintly at the soft sigh she emitted in her sleep.

He wished he felt as peaceful as Leslie looked. Bothered, he finally slipped out of bed, taking care not to jostle Leslie awake, and went off to their library. From his computer chair he could see their bed and his wife lying there, so that he could check every so often to be sure she was still there—absurd, he knew, but for some reason he needed the reassurance more than ever. Christian got his computer going and soon had signed into his e-mail account, which he hadn't checked since leaving London over the weekend. There were the usual messages from Gerhard and Anna-Laura, as well as Anna-Kristina (who still e-mailed him despite her living on the island, mostly because she had a secretarial job at the newly overhauled pineapple plantation and he saw little of her); but to his surprise he also had a message from Carl Johan, whom he rarely heard from. He clicked on it.

_Hello Christian,_

_I hope London went well and you were able to complete all the hiring you needed to do for your business. Did you find Leslie well when you returned to Fantasy Island? Please give her Amalia's and my greetings. It was good to see you both here in July._

_Did you know that Torvald Vikslund died just after the two of you left Lilla Jordsö? There was quite the turnout for the funeral. The thing that surprised us most, I think, was the fact that all six of his daughters were there –- including Ingela. Frankly, I thought she had dropped out of existence. No one had seen or heard of her since just after you stopped keeping company with her. But we noticed that she had a young man with her. The magazines and the television tabloids have been speculating on just who he might have been. It's been quite a little circus. At least it takes the spotlight off our family, so we don't mind so much, although Liselotta has complained of being fed up with the media's obsession with the subject. I might not have mentioned it, except that often when Ingela's story is recapped, they add that you dated her for a while, twenty years ago. I also note that the media picked up on the fact that Ingela disappeared again after the funeral, and when they investigated, it was learned that she was headed to Fantasy Island. I hope you haven't run into her. I simply thought I would warn you._

_Take care, Christian, and write when you can.  
Carl Johan_

Christian let out a soft sigh, glanced in at Leslie, and shook his head. So the pot was already boiling. He knew his brother wouldn't speak to the media if he asked him not to, but he felt compelled to confide in him. Despite the eight-year difference in their ages, he and Carl Johan had been fairly close-knit growing up. He pulled up a blank reply message, thought for a moment and then began to type.

_Hello, äldrebror,_

_It was rather a surprise to see your message...you so seldom write. Yes, Leslie is well, and it was very, very good to come home again, especially to her._

_Well, I appreciate the warning in regard to Ingela, but I'm afraid it's already too late. Try to brace yourself, Carl Johan...that boy you saw with her at her father's funeral is her son, Kurt. And what's more, she claims I'm his father._

_Now Leslie adamantly does not believe this is true, and she insists that Kurt doesn't look enough like an Enstad to be my son. Perhaps she's right. Unfortunately, Ingela claims that he was born in February 1984, and that's nine months after the one time she talked me into sex with her. I don't understand anything about this. I don't know why she waited nineteen years to confront me with this, and I don't know what she thinks she'll gain from it. Of course, we are putting her claim to the test. There's a DNA lab on the island and we submitted material for testing; they say the results should be back by the weekend. In the meantime, I'm left to wonder if I've actually been a father these past nineteen years, and what in hell Ingela wants from all this, and what will happen to my marriage if Kurt does turn out to be my son. Oh, I know that Leslie insists she'll stand by me, but this is the biggest shock we've had since marrying. I worry in spite of myself. My fear is that she wouldn't be able to accept Kurt, that somehow she would grow to resent him, and the unthinkable would happen. And that would destroy me._

_I beg you not to tell the media. Let them wonder. If he is my son, we can deal with it then; if he's not, then there's no reason they should ever have to know at all. I imagine you still share everything with Amalia, and that's all right, but please don't tell anyone else. I'll let you know what we hear, whatever the outcome is._

_If you're online now, please reply quickly. I'm interested in hearing what you have to say. I'll be waiting.  
Christian_

He sent the message, then passed the time by going quietly downstairs, pouring him-self a glass of orange juice—a habit that had been a carryover from his days living alone in the Sundborg flat that now belonged to Gerhard and Liselotta—and drinking most of it there in the kitchen. He then refilled the glass halfway and went back up, pausing beside the bed to gaze at Leslie for a moment. She'd sunk deeper into sleep since he'd gotten up; in fact, he could see that she was dreaming. _I hope it's a good dream, my Rose,_ Christian thought and bent down to press a soft kiss on her cheek before returning to the library and checking his e-mail again. Carl Johan had indeed answered.

_Well, that was a very interesting revelation, to say the least. You didn't say whether you hoped for an outcome in one direction or the other. How does it make you feel to think you might be a father, after all these years of being childless? Do you want the boy to be your son, or are you hoping he isn't? And what of Leslie? I think you mentioned that she wants a child by you someday. I can see why you'd be nervous about her acceptance of that boy if he's your son. But I know Leslie loves you very deeply, and if she tells you she'll stand by you, then for fate's sake, Christian, believe her!_

_As you asked, we won't speak to the media. I agree with you; there's no reason they should know, especially if Kurt isn't your son. We didn't see him very well on the television broadcast that showed him with Ingela, but we did notice he was the only dark-haired member of that entire family. And the dates are too close for comfort. Little wonder you're unnerved. If you don't confront Ingela yourself, I'm sure she'll eventually be unable to resist confronting you, and then she's likely to tell you what you want to know. Don't be too proud to ask Mr. Roarke for help if you need it. It's his island, and if she oversteps her bounds, he'll do something about it, I'm sure._

_Good luck and keep us informed.  
Carl Johan_

Christian considered Carl Johan's reply for a few moments, glancing several times at Leslie, finishing his orange juice and setting the glass aside. Then he started a new message.

_How do I feel about perhaps being a father? Stunned. Shocked. It hasn't sunk in, and I suppose I don't want to let it until I know for certain. I don't know if I want the results to be one or the other. We spoke with Kurt in Mr. Roarke's office, and he seems to have a conscience; whatever Ingela is doing here bothers him. He's not a bad-looking young man, but he looks as little like a Vikslund as an Enstad, as if he were adopted or something. He told us Ingela's mother lived with them until she died when he was ten, and perhaps she taught him some of the integrity that I don't sense in Ingela._

_The only thing I know for certain is this: Ingela wants something. I don't know what it is, but she must want something. Quite honestly, Ingela had better watch her step with me. She can strip me of my livelihood and my possessions...but if she destroys my marriage by her actions, I might as well murder her and let them imprison me for the rest of my days. For if I lose Leslie, there will be nothing left for me to live for and my life won't be worth anything to me._

_As I said, I'll keep you informed. I'd better get some sleep.  
Christian_

Christian sent the message, signed out and closed down the computer, then sat in the dark and stared at nothing. Carl Johan had insisted he must believe in Leslie's assertions that she'd stand by him. He wanted to—oh, how he wanted to. And on one level, he did in fact believe that she would. But he had been rebuffed too many times in his childhood when he'd reached out for friendship, or for love, or even for simple acceptance; and every instinct in him screamed at him to hold onto Leslie with everything he had so that she wouldn't slip away from him. He hadn't exaggerated when he'd told Carl Johan that his life would be worth nothing without Leslie.

Christian put the juice glass aside, got to his feet and went back into the bedroom; by now Leslie had rolled over in her sleep and was facing in his direction. He knelt by her side of the bed and gazed at her; her sleep had quieted, but her face was a little less serene. There was a slight frown on her features now, and he thought he saw the glint of moisture on her cheek. Curious and worried, he reached out and was startled to brush at the track of a tear. Had she been crying in her sleep? His concern overcame him and he stroked her hair, whispering, "Leslie, my darling…wake up, please."

He had to coax her a couple more times before her eyes opened a little and she peered blearily at him. "Christian? What's wrong, my love?"

"I meant to ask you that," he said. "Do you recall dreaming at all?"

She thought for a moment; then her frown deepened. "A little," she murmured. "I can't remember the details now, but I do remember crying about something."

"You must have cried in your sleep," he said, tracing the tear track. Leslie's eyes opened fully with surprise, and she lifted her head.

"That'd be a first," she mused. She focused on him and bit her lip. "Are you all right? You look unsettled. Is this paternity thing keeping you awake?"

Christian sighed. "I'm afraid so," he said. "And I know I should be ashamed of myself for this, yet there's something in me that still fears losing you over this…"

Leslie regarded him, and he waited, slowly chilling inside. Then she shook her head, got out of bed and grasped his hands, pulling him to his feet. "Maybe I can't convince you with words," she said, "only with my actions. Christian, my love, I know why you're still not completely certain. I admit it disturbs me, but I can understand it, and I swear to you, I'm going to prove that you have no reason to be afraid."

"I should warn you," he said, "I expect a confrontation with Ingela, and she's as likely as not to include you in it. I simply don't want it to so affect you that you feel you can no longer deal with the situation and want to…to…"

"No way, Christian Enstad," Leslie hissed fiercely. "Absolutely no way. I don't care who she is, I don't care if she has all the money in Europe, and I don't care what she thinks she can do to you. I'm _not_ going to give her the power to drive me away from you! She can say anything she wants. She can abuse me from here to Pluto and back. She can call me every filthy name she can think of. All it's going to do is make me cling to you harder and harder. And I promise you this—if she starts attacking you, I'll give her my own brand of hell. She won't know what hit her. She doesn't get to push us apart." She seemed unaware that she'd begun to cry, and Christian stared at her in mingled alarm and admiration. "Do you understand me? No scheming hag is going to take you away from me!"

"I believe you, my Rose," Christian assured her, hugging her hard. "I believe you, I truly do. I told you that I'm ashamed I even feel that way. Maybe you need to beat me over the head a bit to make it sink in. I've been told on countless occasions that I'm far too stubborn. I can see I'm stubborn about the wrong thing here."

"Then please, stop being afraid you'll lose me," Leslie begged tearfully. "I couldn't walk away from you—I wouldn't survive it, don't you know that? Do you remember when you thought you'd never be free of Marina and tried to end our relationship? You left me reeling, and I wanted to lose myself in the jungle and just die out there. I didn't want to keep living without you. The only reason I didn't was Father, and it was all he could do to keep me from lying down and waiting to die. Does that tell you anything?"

"More than you know," Christian murmured, caressing her and clutching her tightly against him. "I think that, more than anything else, convinced me that you feel for me the way I do for you. I can't live without you either, my Leslie Rose." He closed his eyes, breathed in the scent of her hair and actually smiled. "Even if Kurt proves to be my son, I'll be able to deal with it now, because I know I'll have you, my miracle of a wife."

Leslie drew back and kissed him. "If Ingela's intent was to try to get you back, she's going to fail, guaranteed. She doesn't know she's trying for the impossible. I love you too much to give you up."

"Good," said Christian firmly and kissed her right back. "I think I can sleep now, finally. Come back into bed with me and let me hold onto you." She nodded vigorously, and they slipped under the sheets and fell asleep in each other's arms.

§ § § -- September 4, 2003

Christian and Leslie had gone into town so that he could say a quick hello to his employees, then gone to the café to have lunch. Someone had left a newspaper on their table, and on page three was a small item noting the fact that Ingela was on the island. She wasn't unknown outside Lilla Jordsö; the Vikslund oil empire was pretty well-known around Europe, competing with Norwegian oil concerns for success if not size. Fortunately, the piece didn't mention Christian at all, relieving both him and Leslie.

Doing mundane errands was so much a matter of rote that neither was the slightest bit distracted by them, and after they'd gone home to put away groceries, go through mail, pay bills and get some household chores done, they looked at each other in resignation. "We can't hide from her forever," Christian muttered.

"Well, I wish we could," said Leslie. "There's something about her that makes me really nervous. I mean…she's very urban, you know? Richer than imagination, polished, at ease among royalty…"

"So are you," Christian broke in, grinning at her.

She rolled her eyes. "That's because I'm in love with you, you goof."

"What about my family?" he parried, still grinning, clearly teasing her.

Leslie awarded him a narrow-eyed glare across the kitchen table and he laughed, but she couldn't be cajoled out of her sinking mood. "I'm serious," she insisted. "She'll think I'm below her, and what's worse, she's going to succeed in making me feel that way. I'm only a commoner, Christian, remember? Even if I was entitled to call myself a princess for a few months, I can't claim that anymore. Not that it'd help much, I never felt like a princess anyway. But I didn't grow up dirty rotten rich the way she did, or with a nice lofty social status the way you did, and I'm the most graceless thing on two feet, and I…"

"That will do," Christian said, so flatly that she snapped her mouth shut and stared at him. "So you were born a commoner and grew up without wealth. So what? The only thing that matters to me is that you're my wife and I love you. There's nothing Ingela can do to change that." He paused a moment and regarded her. "I'll admit that you may have some basis for your fears. I can recall a few occasions on which she delivered some extremely well-placed insults. But what happened to the girl who vowed that if Ingela attacked me, she was going to give her a particular sort of hell?"

"She realized it was all bravado and is shaking in her sandals," said Leslie glumly.

Laughing, Christian shook his head. "Leslie, my Rose, believe me, I don't _want_ to confront her. But if we don't make ourselves available, she'll come seeking us out, perhaps right here in our own home, and I expect you'd find that highly objectionable. I certainly would. I don't want Ingela Vikslund in my private domain, whether by accident or by design. The fact is, I want some questions answered; and I'd prefer to choose the time and place if I can. Now, do me a favor, my darling, and call your father, and see if he would mind whether we joined him for dinner this evening. From there we can decide what we're going to do."

She got up from the table, picked up the phone and punched out Roarke's number, her head hanging; when Roarke answered, she asked, "Hi, Father, are you up for company for supper tonight?"

"As a matter of fact," Roarke said, "I would be…and it's as well you ask, for I've had a request from Miss Vikslund that Christian come to her bungalow this evening."

"You did?" blurted Leslie, her head snapping up. Christian got up then and came to her, wrapping his arms around her from behind while she listened to Roarke's reply.

"Yes, I did," he told her. "You had better tell him to be prepared; she seemed to be very impatient, if not outright angry."

"Do you have any sense at all of what she's after?" Leslie asked plaintively, her hand wrapping itself over both of Christian's.

Roarke chuckled softly. "I may have my share of unusual powers, but I'm afraid mind-reading isn't one of them," he said. "In any case, suppose you and Christian come in about two hours, and then perhaps you might remain here while he goes to see her."

"He's not going alone," said Leslie stubbornly. "I don't care what she says."

"I thought as much," Roarke remarked, his voice warm. "I'll see you this evening."

"Okay, Father." Leslie hung up and turned in Christian's embrace. "Father said Ingela contacted him saying she wants to see you at her bungalow."

"Just me, then?" murmured Christian thoughtfully, his eyes narrowing a bit as he considered it.

"No, not if I have anything to say about it," Leslie said, clinging to him. "I'm going too. I'm scared to death, but I'm still going."

Christian held her tightly. "Try to keep in mind, my Rose, she's just a human being, like you and me," he said. "Your cousin once told me that when he came to Lilla Jordsö with his contract, he dealt with his nerves by telling himself that, king or not, Arnulf had to visit the bathroom each morning like everyone else. And so does Ingela. That puts all of us on one level, no matter what some like to believe. Don't ever let her make you think you're inferior to her. And whatever else you do, never forget how much I love you."

"I hope you remember that too, that I love you so very much," Leslie said softly, closing her eyes and tightening her embrace still more.

"Be careful," Christian teased gently, "you'll squeeze all the air out of me."

"No, I'm just trying to squeeze out some of your extra courage, so I can soak it up," she said with a touch of humor, and he chuckled.

"Well, you'd better stop or I'll have none left for myself. Don't worry, my darling. We have each other, and she stands alone. Now we'll put it away for a little while and take some of that time together that we were going to so enjoy this week." Christian drew back and gave her a suggestive look. "Come with me and let me make you forget for a bit, hmm?"

She smiled. "All you have to do is kiss me for that to happen." He smiled back and immediately did just that.


	6. Chapter 6

§ § § -- September 4, 2003

"I should've had a couple of drinks before I came over here," Leslie muttered, climbing the steps of the little porch that fronted the bungalow where Ingela and Kurt were staying. "A little liquid courage would've come in handy."

"And I thought you squeezed it out of me at home," Christian said, eyeing her with a half-smile. "We're going to try to keep this as short as we can, all right? Take a few deep breaths, Leslie." He waited, watching her while she drew in a long breath, let it out slowly, and repeated the process a couple of times. "Good, that's my Rose. Now stand straight and proud, and don't forget, you're just as good as she is." He leaned over and added softly into her ear, "Better, in my eyes, really. I love you." He smoothed her hair once, then lifted a fist and knocked on the door three or four times. Leslie watched as his expression changed, his smile disappeared and a bit of frost glittered from his hazel eyes.

The door opened after a few more seconds and Ingela Vikslund regarded them; she seemed a little annoyed by Leslie's presence. "I asked for you, not her," she said.

"What concerns one of us concerns us both," Christian replied evenly. "If you want to talk, Ingela, let us in, or we both leave."

Ingela released a small huff and stepped aside to allow Christian and Leslie in. A stiff silence held sway while she shut the door and came in behind them, and the three of them stood regarding one another in the main room, Christian with his guard up, Leslie very wary, and Ingela appearing to take their measure. Finally Christian said impatiently, "Well, get on with it, then. What do you want?"

"For you to acknowledge that Kurt's your son," she said.

"And why are you so certain that he is?" Christian asked.

"Because he was born nine months after we slept together," said Ingela. "And he has the same dark hair that you do. He comports himself like a young prince—and he should have been one. He deserves a father in his life."

"I'll agree with that last," Christian said, "but quite frankly, I'm suspicious of your motives. I don't think they're remotely altruistic—you've never been the altruistic type, Ingela. From what I've seen of the _jordisk_ press online, you haven't exactly been celibate since I put an end to things between us. You can't be so certain he's mine."

Ingela sniffed. "I know what I know." She gave Leslie a long, assessing look. "So this is the girl you married…third wife, isn't she? Is this marriage going to stick, then?"

"What would you know of marriage?" Christian retorted. "The word is that you've never had the privilege. And since you so obviously kept your son informed of my activities, you'll not convince me that you didn't know the circumstances surrounding my first two marriages. I married Leslie for the only reason that's worth it: I'm in love with her, in a way I was never in love with any other woman—certainly not you."

Ingela rolled her eyes. "How romantic. Royalty usually doesn't marry for love, in my experience. Look what happened to poor Princess Diana. Look how divorce has run so rampant in the British royal family…and then there's your own niece, going through a divorce of her own. And I hear it's because she's sterile and her husband couldn't reconcile himself to it." She eyed Leslie thoughtfully. "Speaking of sterility…interesting that you haven't managed to give Christian a child."

Leslie paled. "That's none of your business," she said, but her voice trembled slightly, and Ingela noticed. A small crafty smile stretched her lips.

"Don't you suppose eventually Christian will wonder why you've not become pregnant?" Ingela asked slyly. "Doesn't he want to have a child with you?"

"That's enough!" snapped Christian, his temper instantly boiling over. "Your issues are with me, Ingela, not my wife, so leave Leslie alone!"

Ingela blinked, pretending mild startlement. "Oh, dear. So the prince is protective of the little girl he married. I don't know, maybe she's not interested in having your baby, Christian, did that ever occur to you?"

Eyes blazing, he seized her shoulders and gave her a hard shake. "Do you have trouble understanding English, then? You'll cease taunting Leslie this instant, or we leave. Shall I repeat that in _jordiska_ for maximum understanding?" Christian snarled.

"I understand fine," said Ingela, scowling at him and yanking away. "Don't manhandle me so! You're so quick to lose control!"

"I have no tolerance for those who victimize my wife, particularly when they should be addressing me," Christian said. "Damn it, Ingela, once and for all, tell me why the hell you decided to confront me with the fact of Kurt's existence now, after nineteen years! If you truly wanted to make it known to me that he might have been mine, why didn't you say something when you discovered you were pregnant? Or within a year or two of Kurt's birth? Why wait until he's nearly grown?"

Ingela glared at him. "I would have been more than happy to present you with Kurt and see to it that he was acknowledged as one of the royal Enstads. But my tyrant of a father forbade it. He and my mother were going through a very bitter divorce just about the time you and I began seeing each other. Not long before we slept together, it was finalized and he kicked her out of the house. And from then on he became an utter dictator with me and all five of my sisters. We weren't allowed to make a single move that he didn't know about. When my friend Lisa leaked the news that I'd been at your apartment that night, he heard about it on the morning gossip show and gave me complete hell for it. He accused me of trying to drag you through some foolish scandal of my own creation. I wanted nothing more than to get you back somehow." She looked away, her icy mask cracking a moment. "I'd fallen half in love with you by the time we had our night together, and I fell a little more in its wake…I had to tell someone, I was so happy…"

"That isn't what I heard," Christian said. "You told that friend of yours, if I recall correctly, that now that you'd talked me into sex with you, you didn't want to give it up."

Ingela's face hardened again. "I wanted you to love me, Christian! Don't you know that? I was looking for something permanent with you!"

"You wouldn't have gotten that anyway," he told her, glaring. "You have a few too many undesirable character traits that never sat well with me. Why don't you admit the truth and just say in so many words that you wanted me solely because I was a prince and could confer social status on you, to add to the wealth you already had?"

Ingela actually fell back a step or two, her eyes wide with shock. She was silent too long, and Christian gave a sharp nod. "That's exactly what I thought," he said. "You've just confirmed what I suspected all these years. You're only another social climber. I'd begun to think there was no one out there who could see beyond that."

"Oh, really? And I suppose she did?" Ingela sneered, pointing at Leslie and then giving her a long, disgusted look. "I really don't know what he sees in you."

Goaded, Leslie shot back, "Maybe he realizes that I care more about him than his social status!"

"Really? Then why did the media call you 'Princess Leslie' without ever a word of opposition from you?" Ingela demanded.

"You'll cease that line of fire this instant, Ingela!" Christian commanded. "That has nothing to do with the issue at hand! You can't be so stupid that you don't know why Leslie was a princess for a time. After all, that's what you were hoping to become. And don't tell me you're trying to gain a father for your son. I honestly don't think that's what you're after on his behalf. You want a title for him, don't you? And in obtaining it, you're hoping a little of the perceived glory from it will spill over onto you. Ingela Vikslund, the mother of a prince. Don't give me that look, I know full well what you want. You're richer than I am, so the only thing I could possibly give you that you'd want is a title. Well, for one thing, you have yet to prove conclusively that Kurt is my son. Even if he is, there'll be no title. I no longer have the title myself, or didn't you know that?" He took in Ingela's stunned look. "I can't believe it…you had no idea. You knew I had married Leslie and left Lilla Jordsö to live with her, but you didn't know I was no longer a prince? Funny how that doesn't surprise me." His voice had gone sarcastic. "I'm sorry to have to inform you further that, even if I were still a prince, Kurt wouldn't get the title. You and I were never married and never will be, and that's the only way he could claim the right to be called a prince."

"You don't even know what you're talking about! You could resume the title at any time!" Ingela shrieked desperately.

Christian shook his head. "No, I can't just demand the title back. I wouldn't be able to get it back unless Leslie and I move back to Lilla Jordsö, which we aren't going to do. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. You're so focused on calling your son a prince, you didn't bother to look into the rules. _Jordisk_ law states that any royal who leaves the country to live with a spouse must forfeit the title." He waited, letting Ingela process this revelation; Leslie looked on, silent, still a little fearful.

Finally Ingela drew herself up straight and gave Christian a long frozen glare. "Well, you may not be a prince any longer, but you're still one of the royal Enstads, and nothing can change that. Kurt, being your son, is also an Enstad, royal or not. You'll never be able to get away from that, and you may as well resign yourself to it. After all, he may turn out to be the only child you ever have."

Leslie's gasp was purely involuntary; both Christian and Ingela heard it. For one moment they stared at her, Christian knowing a few seconds of sheer terror for her, Ingela with surprise and then malicious triumph when Leslie's eyes filled with tears and she fled the bungalow. Then Christian's rage soared to a level he'd never before known in all his life, and he rounded on Ingela, who began to back away with real fear at sight of him.

"Before I really lose control and give you what you deserve for saying something so cruel," he told her in low, furious _jordiska_, "you have thirty seconds to explain to me once and for all why you're trying to pass your son off as mine now, after all this time. Start talking, because I'm counting."

"My father," she babbled, actually frightened by his towering royal wrath. "When he found out I was pregnant, he demanded the father's name. I knew it was you and told him so, and he said I wouldn't be allowed to shame the royal family so. He sent me to Sweden and installed me in our Stockholm apartment. I gave birth to Kurt there and raised him there. As long as I kept quiet, my father provided us with all the money we needed to live comfortably. He warned me that if I dared tell anyone about Kurt's parentage, he'd cut us both off forever. But then he died, and I knew I was free to tell—so I came here."

"And why would you bother?" Christian pressed, still backing her towards the wall.

"Revenge!" Ingela shouted, pushed beyond her limit. "I wanted revenge on you for the way you threw me out of your flat that night! You wouldn't let me even try to explain my point of view, you simply kicked me out and refused to speak to me again!"

Christian stared at her. "Revenge?" he demanded incredulously. "It was nothing so much as revenge? _Herregud,_ Ingela, how petty and foolish can you be? And has it ever occurred to you how Kurt must see this? You've been using him simply to lash out at me!" He shook his head in disbelief. "You haven't changed at all. I made the right choice to get rid of you when I did."

"You never understood what you were missing!" Ingela yelled.

"Oh, believe me, I understood all too well," Christian shot back. "I was missing the love and warmth I spent so many years trying to find in a woman. I definitely never found them in you, frigid little iceberg that you were…"

Ingela's face took on a look of outrage. "I am not frigid!" she cried. "Just ask any of the men I've known since you!"

Christian realized instantly that she'd misunderstood his use of the word, and he raised an eyebrow at her and asked silkily, "Oh? Will there be enough time for me to ask all of them before we find out who Kurt's father really is?" Ingela's mouth gaped open, and he turned and left her gawking after him, his mind shifting instantly to Leslie.

Slamming the bungalow door, he leaped the steps off the tiny veranda in one jump and glanced frantically around before he heard a sudden cry and zeroed in on the car. Leslie was in the driver's seat, arms draped over the top of the steering wheel and forehead resting on them, sobbing as though she would never stop. Christian rushed around to the driver's side of the car and gently but insistently pulled her out, clutching her tightly, rocking and caressing her in a desperate attempt to comfort her. "Please, Leslie, my darling, don't cry so," he pleaded in alarm. "Don't waste so much energy on her, she isn't worth it."

But she couldn't seem to stop; in fact her sobbing increased, and he stood helplessly trying to calm her down. "Leslie, I beg you," he persisted. "I swear to you, no matter what she tries to do…I'll keep her away from you, I promise, only please stop. You're terrifying me, my darling. _Herregud,_ if I had known she'd become so cruel—I could strangle her for hurting you so. Leslie, please!"

"Christian, Leslie? Is that you two?" Christian looked around at the new voice and recognized Myeko approaching with Katsumi in the deepening dusk.

"You can't imagine how glad I am to see you two," he said. "Is there somewhere we can go? I can't calm Leslie down and I need to…"

Myeko jogged the last few feet to them and stared in worried surprise. "Holy crud, what happened? Is Leslie hurt?"

"Emotionally, yes," Christian said. "It's a long story."

"Perhaps we go to the teahouse," offered Katsumi.

"Too public," Myeko said, seeing Christian's dubious look. "I don't think you two should go home right yet, Leslie's too upset. How about our house, Christian? I'll drive if you want to."

Christian nodded after a moment. "Yes, I think that's best. All right…the key's in the ignition already. Katsumi, if you can, will you come also? I think Leslie needs friends as much as she does me." He turned back to Leslie, whose sobs had quieted a little, though she was still crying helplessly. "Leslie, it's going to be all right, I promise. Come on and sit here in the back with me. We're going to the Okadas' house. Please, my darling, try to calm down. Don't you know you're frightening me?"

"I'm sorry, my love," Leslie choked out against his shoulder.

Christian closed his eyes and stroked her hair. "Come on, let's get in here." While Myeko and Katsumi got into the front seats, Christian settled Leslie in the middle seat and slid in beside her, gathering her back into his embrace. No one said anything for the entire ten-minute ride to the Okada homestead; the only sound was Leslie's soft sobbing.

Myeko parked and got out, then peered in at Christian. "I'll go find Nick," she said. "You two take your time and wait till Leslie feels up to coming around. We'll be on the patio." Christian nodded and murmured thanks, and she and Katsumi struck off across the yard and around the house while he resumed trying to gently shush Leslie.

"I'll never forgive her," Christian muttered, resting his head against Leslie's. "She simply went too far, doing what she did to you. I suppose your father would say she's a woman scorned. Leslie, I beg you, please, stop."

"T-tell me…" he heard Leslie gasp. "Tell me…what you said…to her after…I left."

"Will you stop crying for me, if I do?" Christian asked gently.

"I'm trying…I promise I am," she said, coughing a couple of times and attempting to slow her gasping by taking deep, though shaky, breaths. "I'm s-sorry, Christian, I know you don't like it when I cry…"

He smiled faintly, a little abashed. "Ah, well, you know how it bothers me. When she hurt you, she could have stuck a knife into me. She's extremely fortunate that my temper expresses itself in words rather than actions. It was all I could do to speak clearly, I was so infuriated with her. I made her tell me why it took her all this time to reveal Kurt's existence. She claims that her father forced her to keep her silence by threatening to cut her off completely from his monetary support while she and Kurt were in exile, but that since he died about a month ago, she decided it was all right to tell her secret. Apparently Torvald Vikslund was frightened enough, or at least respectful enough, of our family that he wanted no part of any scandal she might conjure up." He sighed heavily, then stilled. "Come to think of it, she also said something rather damning."

"What was it?" Leslie asked, sounding stuffed up but calmer.

"I called her a 'frigid iceberg', in the sense that she was so coldhearted," Christian said, "but she evidently misunderstood me and insisted she wasn't frigid at all—I should only ask any of the men she's known since me." Leslie raised her head sharply and stared at him, and he smiled grimly. "I see you picked it up too. Obviously she's just confirmed all the reports I've seen swirling around her in the _jordisk_ digital media. People Ingela knew in Stockholm have talked, it seems, and she clearly didn't spend all her time shut up in that apartment raising Kurt. The only question is how soon she began going from one man to another after the last time I saw her."

"She'll never tell," murmured Leslie.

"No," Christian agreed, sighing. "Perhaps we'll never know, but that's all right. My only concern is Kurt's true parentage. Come with me, my darling, and we'll talk with Nick and Myeko and Katsumi. I'm not sure what Myeko may know about Ingela's presence on the island, working for the newspaper as she does. Let's go and see."


	7. Chapter 7

§ § § -- September 4, 2003

They slowly crossed the Okadas' lawn, each with an arm around the other, Christian casting her a worried glance from time to time. They found Nick, Myeko and Katsumi waiting for them on the patio, and all three instantly got to their feet. "Hi, Christian," Nick said. "Sheesh…Leslie looks in a bad way."

"Maybe we should go inside," Myeko suggested. "You could rinse your face with cold water, Leslie." Leslie nodded without looking up, and Christian sighed softly and gave her a quick squeeze.

"I appreciate this," he said. "We both do. Katsumi, are you certain that Kazuo and the girls aren't looking for you?"

Katsumi smiled. "They are fine, they don't expect me just now. I was to bring home some food. But this is important. Leslie is my friend."

They retreated into the house; somewhere upstairs they could hear the clashing sounds of a video game and a television show. Myeko looked overhead and made a face. "Alexander and his computer games," she said. Alexander, now eleven, had a few favorite games, based on the _Star Wars_ films and the Harry Potter novels; nine-year-old Noelle had managed to get hooked on assorted reality shows, to Myeko's disgust. "Sorry, guys, hang on a minute while I see if either one of them's keeping an eye on Dawn." Nick and Myeko's youngest was two, and had managed to develop such an attachment to Christian and Leslie that Nick and Myeko had seriously talked about making them the child's guardians should anything ever happen to them.

Before Myeko could move, a small voice cried, "Mommy, Mommy!" and Dawn herself scuttled out of the formal living room. She caught sight of the Enstads and brightened. "Hi, hi! Hold me!" She stretched her arms up at Leslie, who couldn't resist and lifted the little girl into her embrace. They all watched her squeeze her eyes shut and fight to keep from breaking down into tears again.

"Very imperious, isn't she?" Christian teased softly, stroking Leslie's hair. "Why don't you go and wash your face, my Rose, and maybe Dawn will let me hold her." He reached over and gently tugged on Dawn's black hair, making the child look up and giggle, then stretch out for him. Leslie let Christian take her, and Myeko smiled and took her friend's hand, leading her to the little first-floor bathroom that Nick had had installed during a massive kitchen remodeling.

"Leslie, my gosh, what on earth went wrong?" Myeko asked softly, finally seeing her friend's face properly in the bathroom light. "Oh my God. Christian's dying…?"

Leslie blinked at her and actually smiled a tiny bit. "No, thank heavens, that's not the problem. It's a long story." Myeko nodded, pulled a washcloth off a towel rack and soaked it in cold water, then wrung it out some and handed it to her.

"I heard some oil heiress from Christian's home country is visiting," she said, then frowned when Leslie shot her a startled look. "She must have something to do with this. Okay, I'll shut up. Rinse your face and we'll go on out."

A few minutes later Leslie and Myeko returned to the den where the others were waiting; Christian was bouncing Dawn on his lap, and the child was squealing with laughter, making the adults laugh too. Christian looked up when they came in and said, "She reminds me a bit of Anna-Kristina at this age. It must be past her bedtime."

"No, no bed," Dawn cried. "No, no…"

Myeko groaned. "We go through this every night," she assured Christian, who grinned with understanding. Bodily lifting a struggling, protesting Dawn from his lap, she bore the little girl out, and Leslie slowly eased herself onto the sofa beside Christian, leaning into him when he slid his arm around her again.

"Your eyes will hurt very much later," Katsumi said sympathetically to Leslie. "I may have something you can use, if we stop at teahouse one moment on way home." She stopped and rolled her eyes. "I still forget to say _the_. We don't have this word in Japanese." She studied Christian curiously. "How is it you speak English so perfect? I not even hear you have an accent."

"Oh, sometimes I do," Christian assured her, amused. "I began to learn English very young, but sometimes Leslie will say something that they forgot to teach me." They all laughed, and Leslie turned toward Christian, her head on his shoulder, tucking her forehead against the side of his neck. "Are you all right then, my Rose?"

"For now," she murmured, her voice a little scratchy. He nodded and tightened his arm around her. Myeko returned then without Dawn.

"Okay, I won another round," she said and sat down beside Nick. "Now what the heck happened that had Leslie competing with the waterfalls around here?"

Christian let out a deep sigh and explained the entire story, skimming over the details of his prior involvement with Ingela and sticking primarily to the facts until he got to the explanation of why it had taken so long for her to tell him about Kurt. Then Nick and Myeko stared at each other and at him alternately, while Katsumi sat and slowly shook her head, her lovely face a mask of amazement.

Finally Myeko cleared her throat. "So do you think he's your son, Christian?"

"I really don't know," Christian admitted. "Leslie doesn't believe he is, but we won't know for certain until the test results come back. That will be a few more days, from what we hear. I don't even know what I feel about all this, and less so now that Ingela's shown she isn't above attacking Leslie."

"I made a mistake," Leslie admitted. "She looked at me and made some remark about my not having had a child yet, and it hit home. And I let her see that it did, so she took advantage. Christian told me not to let her make me feel inferior, but I did. Now she'll always have that power over me."

"She can't really do anything to you," Nick pointed out. "Even if Kurt turns out to be Christian's son, that doesn't mean she gets to have unlimited contact with you or him. And if he's not, then Mr. Roarke can kick her off the island and that'll be the last you ever have to see of her."

"Right," said Myeko. "And Christian just said you don't think he is."

"I don't," Leslie murmured. She closed her eyes, and Christian patted her arm.

Myeko focused on him. "Well, don't worry, Christian, I'm not going to put anything in my column. She's not getting the satisfaction of causing a big stink, and you don't need to worry about having your privacy violated. She's on our turf."

Christian smiled wistfully. "Where were you people all those years ago when I was struggling to keep a low profile? You could teach Ingela a thing or two about integrity."

"She'd have to be taught more than 'a thing or two', my love," Leslie murmured without lifting her head from his shoulder. "She's such a snake, she could kill an elephant from a mile away just by spitting at it."

Nick and Myeko both snorted aloud and then burst into laughter; Christian, shaking his head, laughed with them. Katsumi giggled merrily, and even Leslie smiled wanly. "I don't think," Christian remarked, "that I've ever heard as accurate an assessment of Ingela Vikslund as that. She seemed different when I was seeing her. Perhaps my abrupt ending of our relationship changed her somehow."

"How abrupt was that ending, if you don't mind my asking?" Nick queried.

"Very much so," Christian said. "The night she claims Kurt was conceived, I caught her on my telephone with some friend of hers, chattering about the party and my family and our, uh, encounter. In all my life I've never suffered a more blatant breach of my privacy, and it infuriated me beyond description. I ordered her to call a taxi, informed her that I wouldn't see her again, and made certain she got out. And mind you, being a prince, I had the classic royal temper…and some of the spoilage that comes with being royal, too. I fully expected her to follow my orders; it never occurred to me that she might do anything else. She tried to protest, but she had simply gone too far and couldn't say anything that would have changed my mind." He grinned wryly at Nick. "It boiled down to my issuing a royal command that she had to obey."

"Hmph," Nick mumbled, looking intrigued. "I wish to heck I had some of that clout. It might come in handy with the kids." They laughed again, except for Leslie, who merely smiled. "Frankly, Christian, I think you were completely right. Anybody who pulls a tacky stunt like that deserves the consequences."

"I'll say," Myeko agreed. "Cheer up, Leslie, she's just a blowhard with a big mouth and a small mind. She's full of hot air, and all she did was jump on you in order to subdue you and tee off Christian in a seriously major way. And tell me, if you don't believe her son is Christian's, then why in heck are you letting her get to you that way?"

"I shouldn't," Leslie murmured. "I know I shouldn't, but…she's rich, and high-society, and polished and urbane and quick-witted, and everything else I'm not. I had no way to defend myself, and she just mowed me right down."

Christian put in, "But that's not like you, my Rose. Normally you're right out there giving people what-for if they try to hurt me."

"I know," Leslie said very softly, her voice thickening again with impending tears. "I feel so stupid. I left you to face her alone."

"That's nothing," Christian scoffed gently. "I was prepared to do that anyway. It just seems so out of character for you to let her undermine you so. If her sophistication was too much for you, then we'll simply stay away from her, all right? Don't feel guilty about leaving me to deal with her on my own. She still sees me as the prince who got away, and that's what bothers her more than anything else."

"And I think," Katsumi observed, "that even man who is not prince any longer can still make her feel small. From your words, Christian, I think she always look at you as a prince. And she is angry that she not get you, but Leslie did. So she thinks that she can get you back with her son who she say is your boy, yes?"

"Perfectly summarized, Katsumi," Christian said and smiled. "The same idea came to me, and I confronted her with it—and found out that it's fairly close. She was hoping to elevate her own social status by somehow obtaining a title for Kurt."

"Can she do that?" asked Myeko.

"No," said Christian. "For Kurt to lay claim to a title, Ingela and I would have had to be married at the time of his birth. And that, of course, is assuming he's my son."

"Then there's not much reason for her having come here at all, except to find out Kurt's parentage once and for all," said Nick. "It must've been some shock to her to see you so happily married. Kinda sank her little ship, didn't it?"

"It did," Christian said with a surprised grin, "and that's precisely how we would say it in _jordiska_. I don't suppose you've been studying my language in secret."

Nick chuckled. "Ever since your niece acquired three cats and brought them to me to be de-wormed and spayed, I've heard quite a few interesting little expressions. That one just happened to fit the situation." They laughed again. "I just hope Leslie'll be all right."

"Me too," said Myeko. "You're right, Christian…Leslie doesn't let anybody stomp on her that way. But I gotta tell you, sophistication and polish have always intimidated her. For about a year, right after we finished high school and Tattoo got married, Mr. Roarke had this guy from England as his assistant, and he always seemed to be shrinking her down to size in some way or another. Most of us left here for college that year, and we used to get some funny letters from her. I mean, he was essentially a glorified butler, but he had such a superior way about him, it kind of got to her. You know—'I'm British and you're not, and that makes you all the poorer for it.' Maureen met him once and said he struck her as kind of a windbag." She frowned. "What was his name again, Leslie?"

Leslie released a spiritless little huff and smiled faintly. "Lawrence. And you're right, he did have a way of making me feel like a poor dumb little klutz. But on the other hand, he occasionally managed to lose his dignity. I doubt Ingela ever would."

"Ingela has no dignity," Christian said shortly. "You ascribe a power to her that she has no right to claim and doesn't deserve." He looked up and smiled apologetically. "We didn't mean to take up so much of your time. I think we'd better go on home. Katsumi, if you like, we can drop you off at your house."

"Yes, thank you," Katsumi agreed. "Leslie, you don't fear that woman. If you are still afraid of her, then you know that Christian will fight her for you."

"Exactly so," Christian confirmed. "Come on, my Rose, we're going home."

But once they'd dropped off Katsumi, Christian's frustration overcame him and he parked the car at the cutoff to the beach at Amberville where he still ran occasionally. "Come with me," he said, "I want to be sure you're all right, and I need to run this off."

"I'll wait for you," she said.

"No, I don't want you sitting in the car alone," Christian told her firmly. "You're coming with me. The last thing I want to do is find you in here crying your heart out again. Let's go, come on." He got out of the car and waited till Leslie had followed suit and come up by his side; then he took her hand and led her down to the beach before pulling off his shoes and shirt, rolling up his pant cuffs and breaking into a sprint. Leslie dropped her own shoes beside Christian's and slowly rolled up her pants, watching him veer down to the waterline and pound through the incoming surf. Quietly she followed, stepping in the already-fading depressions his feet had left in the wet sand, and ventured into the water a short way, stopping when the waves hit her midway between knee and ankle. She stood with her head hanging, watching the dark water swirl around her legs and listlessly digging her toes into the sand at the bottom.

At regular intervals Christian pounded past her; she looked up the first couple of times, but he was clearly shut away within himself, and she wondered whether he'd be in any sort of mood for making love. _I'll talk him into it,_ she thought, a spark of hope finally flaring to life within her. _It'll make us both feel better._ It had never failed either of them before; somehow, when everything around them looked bleak, they could find solace in each other, shutting out the entire world and losing themselves in their love. _And if we keep trying…_ Leslie meandered at leisure through the water, sometimes hearing the splash of Christian's footsteps through rolling waves, gradually regaining reassurance from his presence.

It took some thirty minutes before Christian finally stumbled to a halt and braced his hands on his knees, gasping heavily, head hanging. When he'd had a couple of minutes to regain a little strength, he straightened and scanned the water till he saw Leslie in the light of a partial moon. Still breathing too hard to speak, he watched her take a few slow, uncertain steps through the shallow waves, her head down as if she were looking at something in the water, her hair almost obscuring her face.

He'd almost overcome his winded state when she glanced up and to one side, then looked around and spotted him standing still. Slowly she approached him, and he smiled at her encouragingly, bringing her to him a little faster. "You're done?" she asked.

He nodded. "I've run myself out," he said. "Are you ready to go home, then?"

"Do you want me to drive?" Leslie asked.

"If you'd like," Christian said, reaching out to caress her cheek. "How are you feeling? Are you a little calmer now?"

"Maybe a little," Leslie allowed slowly, meeting his gaze with a hopeful look. "But I'll feel a lot better if we could make love when we get home, and I think you will too."

Christian chuckled softly and pulled her into a hug. "You know perfectly well I'd never say no to that. I should finally have my second wind when we get there, and you can wear me out all over again, so maybe we'll both sleep tonight." He was relieved to hear her soft giggle of response, and drew back just enough to kiss her at length before lifting his lips from hers. "That's just a little taste of what we'll share later. Let's go, my darling."

Hand in hand they crossed the dark beach, picked up their shoes and his shirt, and continued on to the car. Neither spoke on the way home, still feeling a bit numb and detached after all the emotion they'd been through, but Christian kept running his hand slowly along Leslie's thigh, and on the straight stretches of road she laid her hand atop his.

Home felt like a haven. On the steps they dug out the last of the sand from between their bare toes, then let themselves into the house and left the shoes in the usual place by the door before going upstairs. Though Christian's run had drained him, he gladly gave in to Leslie's second and third requests to make love before looking at her with a teasing grin and murmuring, "Have mercy on me, my Rose. I have nothing left."

She kissed him softly. "Can I get anything for you?"

"All you need to do is just rest your head on my chest and sleep," he said. "I'm on the edge of unconsciousness here. You might have to roll me over." Her giggle made him grin again, and he found one last reserve of energy to lie on his back so she could settle her head on his shoulder. He stroked her hair in reassurance, but he was so thoroughly exhausted that it was only a few minutes before his hand stilled on her head and went limp, then slid slowly down onto her back. Leslie lay listening to the steady beat of Christian's heart, the soft rhythm of his breathing, and made a silent promise to both herself and him before closing her eyes and finally drifting into slumber.


	8. Chapter 8

§ § § -- September 5, 2003

Shortly after lunch the phone rang, startling both Christian and Leslie, who had been finishing up some of the housework they'd neglected over the past few days. Leslie picked up the living-room phone. "Hello?"

"Hello, Leslie…are you and Christian free?" asked Roarke's voice. "I've notified Miss Vikslund and her son: the test results have come back, and we will all meet at the lab."

"Oh," said Leslie, blinking, her hand drifting slowly up to cover her heart. "No, we're not busy right now…we'll see you in a little while."

"What was that about?" Christian asked, having paused to watch her.

"It was Father. He says the test results are back," Leslie told him, "and he's already told Ingela and Kurt. We're supposed to meet them at the lab."

"_Herregud,"_ Christian whispered, stilling and closing his eyes. He took a couple of long breaths, then opened his eyes again and focused on her. "Do you think you can face it?"

Leslie stared at him in amazement for a moment, then crossed the room to him and hugged him hard. "You're the one with the most emotional stake in this, and here you are asking me if I can handle it. Oh, Christian, my darling, you're a treasure. Don't worry about me. Whatever we find out, I'll never leave your side."

"I know, my Rose," he murmured, clinging to her. "I know, and that's enough to give me the strength to find out the truth. Well, let's go and get it over with."

It took them about fifteen minutes to reach the lab and park; Roarke was already there, with Kurt and Ingela. "Good, you're finally here," Ingela snapped.

"Mother, shut up," Kurt said, surprising the others. "I'm sorry."

"It's quite all right, Kurt," Roarke assured him. "One moment." He went to the receptionist's desk and spoke with her for a moment, while Christian and Leslie stood holding hands, Ingela sat in one of the chairs looking impatient, and Kurt nervously paced the floor near one of the windows. Roarke returned after a moment and paused in front of the Enstads, studying them with concern. "What of you two, are you all right?"

"As much as possible, considering the circumstances," Christian said quietly.

"Good," Roarke said. "Once we have learned the results, we'll return to the main house; I have a guest there waiting for me, and I think you should meet him."

"Are you getting along okay?" Leslie asked him worriedly. "I thought you were going to need me today."

Roarke smiled at her. "Tomorrow is soon enough, child," he said. "You and Christian have been through quite an emotional ordeal this week. Ah…here they come." The two doctors who had seen Christian and Kurt a few days before emerged from the back rooms; Dr. Tourek, the senior physician, carried a file folder. Ingela got up from her chair, and she and an anxious-looking Kurt joined their little group. They greeted one another and the men shook hands; then Dr. Tourek cleared his throat.

"I don't blame you for wanting to get this done with," he said, "so I'll just tell you straight out. The results came back negative. There are a very few significant parallels between the DNA samples, but not enough to make a match. Mr. Enstad, you and Kurt Vikslund are not father and son."

The breath rushed out of Christian and he sagged visibly; Kurt looked devastated, and Ingela gasped loudly. "Impossible!" she cried. "They have to be!"

"They're not, Ms. Vikslund," Dr. Tourek said calmly. "I'm sorry."

"Then…who…who is my father?" Kurt mumbled, staring into space, his face a mask of hopelessness. Christian, Leslie and Roarke looked sympathetically at him; he had made no secret of his hope that Christian was his father, and now that it had been proven he wasn't, they felt sorry for him.

"Perhaps we can find out," Roarke said, laying a hand on Kurt's shoulder. "As I said, I have a guest waiting at the main house. He may have some of the answers we are all hoping to find. Kurt, you and your mother may ride with me." Kurt nodded; Ingela scowled and hung back while Roarke thanked the doctors, who retreated to their offices. She glared at Christian for a moment till Roarke and Kurt had started for the door.

"So you've won," she snarled. "Maybe you're just as barren as your wife."

"I'd pity you, Ingela," Christian said tiredly, "but I don't have enough generosity left in me to allow for such a thing. It's pretty clear to me that your parents never taught you to give in gracefully. It's not a matter of winning or losing anything. If all you can do in the wake of finding you were wrong is to hurl insults, then save your energy. Keep attacking my wife, and you'll come to regret it—make no mistake about that." He wrapped one arm firmly around Leslie and escorted her to the door; Ingela could only trail after them, seething audibly, muttering in agitated _jordiska_.

Within a few minutes they had parked in the lane in front of the main house, by which time Leslie had gone silent and pensive. "Don't let her do that to you, Leslie," Christian said a little urgently. "She isn't worth it, and you know it as well as I do."

Leslie seemed to blink and snap to the present moment. "Oh…" She gave him a small, sheepish smile. "I'll be all right. What about you?"

"I've never known such a sense of relief," he admitted, sighing. "I do feel sorry for Kurt, and I'm flattered that he hoped he was my son. But in some way I feel vindicated." He smiled at her. "Come on in, and let's see who your father's guest is."

They made their way into the house several steps behind Ingela, who shot them a glare over her shoulder but otherwise didn't pay them any attention, and stepped into the study to find Roarke just shaking hands with a man none of the others had seen before. He was dressed in a black T-shirt, jeans and scuffed sneakers, and was a solidly-built type with just the hint of a beer belly. He had light-brown hair already going to gray and sharp pale-blue eyes, the sort of nondescript face that allowed him to blend into a crowd, and a pair of sunglasses perched atop his head. "I'm glad you were able to accommodate my request on such short notice," Roarke was saying.

"Think nothing of it, Mr. Roarke, I'm always glad to help out," the man said. "I see we have quite a few interested parties here."

"Indeed we do," Roarke replied. "My son-in-law and daughter, Christian and Leslie Enstad; Miss Ingela Vikslund; and her son, Kurt Vikslund. This is Robert Long, a private investigator of my acquaintance."

Leslie threw him an astonished look. "You really get around, Father," she remarked humorously. "I never knew you were buddies with a P.I."

Roarke said innocently, "There was never a reason for me to divulge that information until now. Well, why don't you all find seats. May I get anyone anything?" They all declined, and the group scattered around, with Roarke behind his desk, Christian and Leslie in the leather chairs that sat in front of it, and Kurt and Ingela in chairs on either side of the tea table. Robert Long took the computer chair and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and surveying the others.

"Well," he began, "Mr. Roarke contacted me last Monday and asked me to look into a certain matter for him. I figured it was going to be something very involved, but as a matter of fact it was probably one of the easiest investigations I've ever done. It's my understanding that Mr. Enstad here is a prince of Lilla Jordsö—sorry, I have a hard time pronouncing non-English names." This he directed at Christian, who chuckled with good-natured acceptance. "And Miss Vikslund is one of the daughters of an oil magnate of the same country, am I right?" At Ingela's impatient nod, he went on, "When Miss Vikslund presented Mr. Enstad with her claim that he was her son's father, Mr. Roarke got in touch with me and explained the situation, and asked me to look into it." He opened the folder and cleared his throat. "Now, before I go on, might I ask the results of the DNA testing?"

"They were negative," Christian told him. "Kurt isn't my son."

"I still think the test was wrong," Ingela said stubbornly.

"Was it really?" Long inquired, eyeing her. "Miss Vikslund, DNA testing is about the most accurate indicator of relationship there is. If it says Mr. Enstad isn't your son's father, then you can accept it as the final unshakable word on the matter."

"Precisely," Roarke said, leaning forward and staring at Ingela. "Tell me, Miss Vikslund, what is it that so convinces you that Christian is your son's father?"

Ingela said flatly, "Because he and I slept together at the right time in relation to the date of my son's birth."

"Are you sure there wasn't anyone else?" Christian asked with a raised eyebrow.

Ingela stared at him. "What are you suggesting?"

"You must have slept with someone else not very long after that night," Christian said easily. "Since DNA shows that Kurt and I aren't related, obviously you were with another man very shortly thereafter."

Ingela's mouth dropped open; she couldn't seem to find anything to say, and Long filled in the breach. "Miss Vikslund, I contacted three of your sisters and several of your acquaintances from Stockholm, and it seems that for a while you were keeping company with this man." He extracted a glossy photograph from the folder, held it up and displayed it at the others. Kurt, Christian and Leslie stared at the photo. Ingela's hand went to her mouth; Roarke's eyebrows rose at sight of her movement.

"Who is he?" Christian asked.

Long said, "This is Duke Sebastian Markelius, born in the resort town of Sommarhamn in Lilla Jordsö but raised in Sweden from infancy."

"Duke?" Leslie echoed.

"I don't know of any nobility in Lilla Jordsö," Christian said slowly. "If there were, they would have to be descended from siblings of ruling monarchs."

Long nodded. "Precisely, and as a matter of fact, the duke _is_ related to your family, Mr. Enstad. In any case, from all reports I received, Miss Vikslund kept company with the duke for a while, at first in Lilla Jordsö and then later in Stockholm before parting ways." He looked at Ingela. "Miss Vikslund, do you remember this man?"

"Yes…Sebastian," she mumbled, eyes fixed on the photograph.

"Did you have relations with anyone else other than the duke and the prince in the month of May, 1983?" Long asked her directly.

Ingela blinked and gave him an affronted glare. "You clearly enjoy asking personal questions, don't you, Mr. Long. No, they were the only ones."

"And what about in the month of June, immediately afterward?" Long pressed.

"No," Ingela snarled, "only Sebastian. What do you think I am?"

"An opportunist," Christian said. "It seems to me that you never allowed for the possibility that this duke is Kurt's father, but simply fixated on me, based on exactly one encounter. A prince outranks a duke, so of course my title was the more attractive."

"In any case," Long said when Ingela glared at Christian, "I tracked down the duke, who currently lives in Lund, Sweden, and asked him a few questions. When he found out why I was asking, he insisted on coming back to this island with me."

Ingela blurted, "You mean…he's here?"

Long nodded and looked at Roarke, who arose and crossed the room to the closed door of the time-travel room. He opened it, glanced inside and gave a nod, and then stepped aside when a slender dark man emerged into the study. He bore some resemblance to Christian, but it was clear almost immediately that he and Kurt had to be father and son: they looked too much like each other. Kurt stood up and stared at him; he glanced around the room curiously, then focused on Christian. "Ah…Prince Christian. My distant cousin, I do believe." He smiled in friendly fashion and offered Christian a bow.

"I'm pleased to meet you," Christian said, "but I'm very much afraid you have me at a disadvantage. How exactly are we related?"

Duke Sebastian Markelius smiled apologetically. "You might recognize the name, Your Highness. My great-great-grandmother was Princess Dorotea, the younger sister of King Carl IV, your great-great-grandfather."

Christian stared at him in amazement. "So Princess Dorotea yet has surviving descendants! My sister couldn't trace Dorotea's lineage any farther down than five grandchildren; the records were spotty."

"As they so often were during the nineteenth century," the duke agreed. "But I do know that I'm the last of Dorotea's line…" He hesitated, looked around and focused on Kurt. "Or at least, I was until now. Young man, I won't dispute that you're my son—you have too many of my facial features. What's your name?"

Kurt grinned a little shyly. "I thought so too. I'm Kurt Vikslund."

The name registered with the duke and he turned then to Ingela, really seeing her for the first time. "Well, now," he said faintly. "Is this why you decided to stop seeing me, because you discovered your pregnancy?"

"You had made it plain enough that you weren't interested in me," Ingela protested.

The duke sighed gently. "Ingela, I think you and I must have a long talk…and I think it wise if Kurt is in attendance. But certainly not here. However," and he turned to Christian, "I'd like very much to strike up an acquaintance with you, cousin prince. I've spent my life in Sweden, but manage to get back to the family homestead in Sommarhamn on occasion, and I'm not unfamiliar with assorted events. You gave up the title, I understand?"

"I did," said Christian with a smile, "and sitting beside me is the reason for it. Meet my wife, Leslie."

"A pleasure," the duke said, lifting Leslie's hand and kissing it. "I plan to be on the island for some time, with Mr. Roarke's kind permission, and that should give me some time to get to know the two of you—not to mention this unexpected son of mine. And before you ask me whether you need to curtsy to me, my dear lady, no, you don't. Both of you, just call me Sebastian." He returned their smiles, then excused himself and faced Ingela and Kurt. "Now, to the business at hand. Mr. Long…I thank you for initially coming to see me a few days ago. I'll admit it was quite the shock, but now that I find I have family—something I hadn't thought was the case previously—I find the possibilities intriguing."

"So you're royalty, then?" Kurt ventured.

"At a remove," Sebastian said. "I'm not royalty myself, but I am descended from royalty. Princess Dorotea left the country to marry a highborn Swede. She and this duke returned to Lilla Jordsö before the paperwork to relinquish her title could be pushed through, so she never ceased to be a princess; but her husband refused the title of prince. And their descendants have inherited his title rather than hers as a result."

"Do you have any other children?" Kurt asked.

"I never had that privilege, no," Sebastian said with a rueful smile. "Seems to me that you, young man, stand to inherit, despite your illegitimacy. I can see to it that you do, in any case; I have that power." He cleared his throat, looked around the room, then bowed at Christian again. "We do have a great deal to discuss. Would you excuse us so that we might go and do so? Cousin prince, I'll contact Mr. Roarke to find out how to get in touch with you, if that sits well with you."

"It does," Christian said. "Good luck, Sebastian, and call me Christian."

"With pleasure, Christian. Mr. Roarke, I thank you for your time and effort, and you as well, Mr. Long. And I hope, Leslie, to learn the story of how you and Christian came to be married so happily." Sebastian tipped an imaginary hat at her and she grinned.

Once they'd left, with Robert Long behind them, Roarke turned to his daughter and son-in-law. "If I dare say it, Christian, you seemed quite relieved to find that Kurt Vikslund is not your son."

"As always, your guess is accurate," Christian said, smiling a touch ruefully. "I'm glad for Kurt, of course, but I feel a little sorry for this newfound cousin of mine. He'll have to deal with Ingela, and I wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy."

"Maybe he _wants_ to deal with Ingela," Leslie suggested impishly. "After all, that P.I. said they'd hung out together for a while. For all you know, my love, he missed her all these years and is looking to rekindle a romance."

Christian gave her a look that made her snicker. "If you say so, my Rose," he said very dubiously, and she and Roarke both laughed. "Now if I recall correctly, we still have part of our day, and tonight, left before we both must go back to work tomorrow, so I suggest we take full advantage of it. If you'd excuse us, Mr. Roarke…and thank you, most sincerely and gratefully, for all your help in this matter."

"You're family, Christian, and that's what family does for one another," Roarke said with a smile. "Enjoy the rest of your time off, you two." They smiled back and departed, hand in hand again. But Roarke had sensed a vague disquiet in his daughter, and wondered with some concern what the immediate future held in store for her and Christian.  
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**A/N:** _No, it's not quite over yet for Christian and Leslie. To be continued…_


End file.
